Humanity of upstanding mouths spitting fire,
A drum roll at the war’s dark front,
Stepping through the fog of blood; black iron rings out
In despair. Night in mournful brains;
Here is Eve’s shadow, hunting and red money.
The safe silence found in bread and wine
Where they are twelve in number.
Night cries out amid the sleep under the olive trees;
Saint Thomas dips his hand into the scar