he would lie on the cliffs

  the forbidding peaks,
  dark and sinister, reaching out
  rousing the old

  horror loomed
  whose boundaries no prophet might fix,
  leaping through open windows at night

  the most grotesque deaths
  had been reported —

  but this
  was not the dense pall
  of mystery —

he had turned,
could no longer be restrained — Hope
fell through the cyclone-whipped dark

  foliage wilted

  all that survived
  had to be shot