Scree of gavel beak
upends the quiet
Where? There. That silver star fluttering
moon clinging to her dapple down robe;
while below in a white garden, channels
follow the rule of law - ordered
and arrested in her black beads
The trial begins:
who will bear witness
in this silence?
The tree court rustles
ushers in a verdict
there can be no defence.
The night judge hovers
Over a death sentence
Then snaps shut her wing cage
O swift justice
On a small matter of hair, bone.
The defendant is a torn off head
She returns home
To her young wigs
makes herself known
An utterance that
pronounces rude life
weep as they feast
the judge preens
Shrugs off the cold
