Grimbeau

Oxen stare out

ankle deep in mud

catch a flaxen

burst of lux gold sax.

The procession nears:

Madame Charcot,

her Footmen,

borne by

mute lace makers.

They pass,

Waving waxen,

lit by Tilley Lamp

and near full

plumb

moon.

Here to replace

the sleeper.

Then

After that

Matins and Martini.

Misery lurks in the long grass,

armless and still,

like good gone west.