the fall
was slow, rough
bitter, red palmed.

And ashes.

glassy eyed, a slough, sweat
wet and washed, the gloom
of gold.

And saliva.

Apollo descended, Godiva
roamed, Eros marched, God grinned
yellow teeth

For all.

These, I heard,
were gifts of the grieving,
forged by the martyrs, stolen
for the saints

And time
has resurrected fools
for halos-- wings too frail
to carry the masses; to settle
for stigmata,

And golden rings
to bind the mind, as if we
had never carried the cross

Of being alive.