My face is here in the wildfire
Myself alone breathing in the night wind

My face is here where the moonlight wanders
And the periwinkle grows
I can hear the rooks in their light sleep crow.

My face is here in the storm wave
Hiding in the ditches and the holloways
With the pebbles beneath my feet
Shining softly like dying stars

And the dogs bark far from here

My face is here in the maelstrom
My fossil bones jutting out into the night air
And the insects, sacred
Whirling through my green black life-riddled hair

My head blows in the wake of plunder obscene
A ghost wilderness of pollen and seeds.