Some sad sunrise, when Yeats
in fiction, arrayed against his papal foes
sat on the Taran fringe and listened
to the whispers of fairies and
the impressing catholic faithful.
He spoke to the controversy, to fates,
to the howling rhyme of protestant ethics
crashing into a sea of Roman fervor.
“Moses gave you separation,
division from your youthly wives,
to follow fae into dappled forests –
at midsummer’s with the night fire’s blazing,
some new command dressed in the drag
of an old woman’s lost laundry.”