Stay away from the blood-water,
the lion’s mouth
the thrumming under the cover.
It is dangerous to watch
these waters well,
fall down the drop,
slopping from channel to pool.
One cup is never enough
for women who turn and return.
It beats in the veins till
its throb and pulse force
rhythms to fullness,
reach for shadows
that swarm by the wall.
Where is your white life now
as you pass through the gate?
Not under the gathered yew,
crabbed apple,
the tearing thorn.
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