The Angel ’ s Horn
Down the drumming digits thrust , Down descend the driven valves ; Thudding pistons hurtle through Lightless , oily , slickened tubes . Slide three rockets out and back , Metal on stiff metal clicks , Frantically maintaining pitch , Tuning tones from tongue and lips .
But the mouth is concealed behind the piece ; Busy , talon-like toes , taut with dragon skin , Are hidden beneath the bleeding water Whereon rests the feathered glory of melody . The undulant strain breaks crimson glass to ripples ; Golden wings rise against the barred heavens .
The Machine
Spokes and arms of the Strandbeast , Driving it gently along , pulling it over the beaches . Humming its machine-tuned song .
Only wind powers the Strandbeast , gliding over the foam . With a breeze twirling the turbine , the sand beast now walks home .
22
Bamboo struts of the Strandbeast , making the chassis and shaft , build up a scaffold of strength . Creating – from nothing – a craft .