Goliath’s Lament

The earth has its history the sun
Its life the moon its laws
and he, he would use pitch
To seal his boats

Devour a slice of heaven
Without joy turn his stomach
When sulphur fumes rumble
Hurl rocks across magma flows
Full of furore scatter black glass
Over the landscape on pock-marked stone

Guard the rocks’ oil with power
And heat beneath the ice of the sea
That belongs to no-one and all
Even the wilted bugloss
The alyssum that claws its way
Up vertical slag slopes

He who would prop up the mountain
Where master and dog lie buried
Together beneath the thistles where
Blue-throated lizards multiply
In cave passages and
Geckos bring good luck to the day

And he, what by all means should he do
To sing his own song freely
As the warbler sings the song of his kind
Because that is what he does