You're welcome, Sarah-Jane; yes, fairly late! And I was a bit hot at the time, but today I've got the fan working so I am feeling fresher. I'm lucky that my bedroom has a north window, otherwise I'd be tempted to take to the gardens, lol.
The tweak is effective. Here's a quick try at the poems:
These unreal ancients, from their starry stage,
present ideas through risograph machines.
They sing of throstle-nests, and seas, faint echo-
chambers filled with silk and keys and dreams.
Now here's a hive of sulky wayward bees
that feast on hot blue stars and hyacinth.
We watch them buzzing through the starry floor
to drizzle honeyed deadlines through our door.
A land as deep as stone that held a well
now holds a whale, fair Subterranea.
She sends her thoughts, of amethyst and loss,
for us to view through salt-tinged vaping clouds.
Within this second bathroom? Deity
of hybrids, twilight, fur and embouchures.
Ambiguously half-divine, they bathe
themselves in dry white wine and muscatel.
Next, shush! for Diaphora, private god
of underwear and immaterial.
Within her licit chamber, she creates
precise taxonomies for silken drawers.
Meet Simeon, a rakish exquisite,
the god of inept conversationalists.
He sends us tiny snips of winning words
in blurred Morse code through moonlit glitterballs.
Druantia, that lost imagina-
ry deity of hares and damson stones,
we scry your thoughts in weather vanes. Your hedge-
row words run wilder than the eyes of owls.
Now lost in Lucent chambers of the night
above the fossil tombs of trilobites,
we leave the gods of flying fish to drift
like moths and dust, space unperturbed by myth.
That's a first go, anyway, and there aren't many changes; it just took a few minutes, so feel free as a bird to take/toss. I've left a little variation in there, but if you 'd like me to sharpen up, just say. And hopefully Cameron will return with some suggestions :-)
Best wishes,
Fliss
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