One Stark Trumpet Peals

One Stark Trumpet Peals At eve, old melodies unwomb, old ragings wake as crones, stringy hair unbunned, creep downstairs to supper on a loin. As they feed, their fingernails roll back and so they gravitate or, better, crawl toward the dawn, for in the din that eddies in each ear, they can hear one stark trumpet peal as they creep toward the sun a final time, drawn by ancient echoings. Donal Mahoney