The city’s neon sheen left marrow-cold
These bones, wandering, chill-numbed, years lost down
Paths from fabled youth’s jewelled east. For, not old,
My spring drab autumn turned, prime's purpose drowned.
Glib priests professional heaven's way advised,
An end, indoors, they stirred not to pursue.
My face turned to night's road. I saw arise
Love’s star – unsought, almost forgotten. I viewed,
Then knelt and wept, removed the tinfoil crown
Of all I thought to be. Close have I found
Flesh full of God, girl holding mastery,
All my hope and desire soft on her knee.
Write gold, lead pencil; fume, spirit's incense-grains;
Enounce her myrrh-balm pulsing wine-sweet my veins.