Disabled Landscapes Coil

From the spires of an old grey tree
Swings a burial at sea
Her white limbs spilling
Out chains of flowers, golden
Heavy with bees

These signs, these houses
Are the songs, are the symptoms
Of a beautiful sickness
Poured from a vessel, dislodged
From the sails of her stomach

The ravens of dispersion
Pull covers over
The landslides and earthquakes
That hide in her hair

Silences, swimming
Under the dolphins
Rise through her waters
Like cold stars, in mourning

White marble bones in a cellar
Washed over by snowdrifts
The seaspray steals whispers
Stolen from travellers
Referring to secret enemies