We Were

churned to agitation. We fastened a cloak round
the nape of nation. We have clustered to bear
the weather. 40 jewels for 50 thieves

To spackle our sorrow in ochre,
to carve a sun from a carcass of grapes.
We will knead the wine’s mother.

We will sip her from a lake. Three
gold eyes above a trellis.
Three gold eyes bespeak.

            vine
            lattice
            midnight seed

A thousand eyes for 50 thieves.