In owl-moon night
when doors are closed
in shut out light
lanes breathe morose

He carries the weight
dead in drunk sleep
in chilled night’s sweat
of tightened grip

On side of street
men burning logs
seize some heat
as need too dogs

But he must run
errand of hell
till job is done
moon’s face goes pale

Jangle hand’s bell
veins swell up taut
marks frame frail
battle hard fought

From lane to lane
his stone feet roam
till rests his pain
on pavement home!