Iron music

laid on sweet and laid on thick, the trick
is to lay it on love together
dancing in the green fields of wonder
under the full moon of summer
plucking the bright apples of your eye

dozens of days and dozens of years
doesn’t bother a fig leaf on life
in the meadow where wind up your skirts
or a breeze in your sails sets you off
rolling across the never-ending

catch the child of morning as she plays
you into heaven on a gold horn
with sweet and bitter gipsy music
making love as simply as angels
sing on your lips as you drink the dawn

and bring down the hammer of the scop
ringing evening’s anvil on the fire
of a shepherd’s delight burning night
to forge the iron shares of work and peace
until there are no manacles left

no bonds without consent no knives lent
without a good spell to keep them keen
no treating mean no machine where hands
will do to double the force applied
and double and double and again

until your love is like all the rice
in the world: the sign that god loves us
heaped on the last square spilling over
the threshold of the multiverses
satiated sustained uplifted