Through the Creeping Glass

Evening's primal tide pulls
us to her darkened girth
the Sun's heat rise severs
our umbilici of birth
the shade of night falls, a filter
slivered into a vertical pupil 
opening silent unseen gates 
through which a predatory 
bestiary steps into this 
our world after the curtains
of dusk are drawn shut
the theater of sleep
projects fractured visions
within our domed cathedrals
while outside, in the great
wall of the wild the darker
side of thy lacine thrives
and the children are trained
to walk under the Sun all their lives
and to run from the stories of wolves
that are lies cried out by the elder
weakening in power who've been
given three tries at building
their black enamel tower
on the landscape of dream
scaring the ravens away
with a crucifix looming
as its shadow leans out
while the Sun's going down
and the majority of the whole
of men awaken from their
nightmare's compounded
gravity to walk around
in the lightness of their Star
each one a beast with a mask
of complacency or a mime
without individuality or
a king stripped of scepter
or a jester tricked back
into forgetting to remember
he's a member of the cast
hypnotized into performing
the dream that is played
in the cathedrals of wilderness
for the rows of hooded monks:
reptiles watching themselves.