This patch once a brightly-addled field
What of that remains now breath-straining ash conceals;
Beneath clay layers minute as flea caskets bask rent steels
Spurs for steers who faced austerely fearsome spears
Muskets pristine and unfired as Wuthering Heights’ hearths.
I feel translucent
Train lucented-night trains me
Draining, sluiced of all remaining memory
Straining still to remake the fatal day.
Her temper a hit weather vane, which wind winnows withershins
Even on temperate days, with covered shins and parka zipped.
Alchemisland 
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