This poem is published in the Grist.

 

Heraldry.

In August the sun held a coin
to the silverberries. They ripened

to cake among the gunshot, among
the wounded with their piecemeal

apples and parchment lips, who spoke
of a room held deep in the stone

fountain among plates that shone
like Bezants or hurt turtles, wherein potato

pallor gandy dancers danced, singing, gulp
what the fountain gives, give this in return.