I know, to entice, to convince, I must sing Your ear inside stone, must sing Gold bitten and true, the corn kernel, one seed, I must plant one gold seed in your mouth with my lips. Raleigh says: the Queen knows my name. The Crown Of a woodpecker is
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The wars are everywhere, o even within.
Drawn in poor bee by the dance loud hum
Of some other tribe, poor bee. Even the center, even the heart,
Keeps a sting sharp: art stings thought, thought stings art.
Petty realm of the long known. Are there other ways to learn to sing?
Clash of long dead blades in the fallow fields
And the wind that blows truce for an hour whistles loud the rash
Martial tune. Some scribe handles himself. “Use it,” sings the song.