Bright as the menace, Man
brings gallant shadows
for the golden idol.

We give a wicked turn for the fire,
and jonquils for the Essenes,
pillories for nay-sayers,
squawking and gawking, bronze
bottoms for the whip:

perched piety, an angel
and a demon,
I forget their names
as they whisper petty
prayers into my ears.

Countless and listless are
the eyes that beam, Heaven-
sent and Heaven-forward,
the wanderlust leaving
Paradise in shambles.

Bright as Venus, acid rain
beckons all the saints
left dim, a shadow
bursting in the stratum.

We give wicked lies to the worrier:
One night, near to waking, he tore
the Devil's wings
and traded them for daylight,
bright as the
gallant  menace.

and the God laughed,
and then he cried.

Sometimes I wonder if jealousy
will lay with empathy, equal
halves to the other.

And I forget my name.

Forgetting piety, forgetting blame,
leaving the vagabond,
the lowlier child,
to weep alone
in his nakedness.

Countless and listless are
the prayers of children,
caught by the reign
of night, gleaming silently,
lonely
and together in the stratum.