Rattle

Baby boy--soft baby boy!
Are you still drunk off pleasures of the breast?
Do you not hear Hephaestian song
beating through the labyrinth of your head?

You have not heard of listening.
You cannot know that blacksmiths
hammer stirrups in the dark,
sparks zinging from their anvil
through their swift electric arcs.

Soon horses will pound through these very canals--
their riders will shout in warlike tones.
But your head is not yet hard enough
to hear, within, the rattle of bones.