we circumambulated the cathedral
  and whose face of gray for I to wear
  is insisting that I have been dead for
  a long time as obvious as a bell curve?
whose cross is this that I am carrying
  all across the firmament repeating
  in a yelp of command: salvation?
whose nails if not for knives
do I smother at dawn? stone’s hindsight
and a fool for the world deep in the night,
  beguiled – waters decide my home
is permeable. I must have drowned in sound
a dwarfed image when I shouted

your name in all of my silence.