the ascension

Your bald head upturned
to Him all the Lord
sees presumably
is one more dull face
made bright with worry

and the acclaim of
heaven. Miracles
you have seen before
but do not hold a
candle to your man

gathering His robes
up modestly &
stepping into thin
mountain air. Ever
the perfet showman

His humor settles
down before the glow
of satisfaction
showing in His face
& does not reach the

eyes serene & blue
by which He sees just
hanging there a small
red flame like faith
flickering still.

See how despite discouragement the rose,
Just like the tender, tended heart, still grows.

waiting for the eclipse

April 8, 2024

The birds descended as they always had
except the young birds did not want to go
to bed, and said we want to see the sky
turn blue before its time and watch while sun–
spots gather in the eyes of foolish men

We want to shiver in the afternoon
without a reason beyond wanting to,
the thought for half an hour that the world
is different, dimmer at the edges as
it sometimes is, and knowing when to look

the paper wars

were lost before
the thought of what
it meant to win

had settled on
the land like dust.

The paper wars
regarded then
were cold and thin

and garlanded
the world around

with simple chains
which were not yet
unbreakable.

constantine

A vision of a vision came to me
As shadow from an upper window caught
In folds of gold embroidered drapery

Is thrown back on itself: a feeling not
Unlike the sudden subtle certainty
On waking of a dream’s receding thought

marble mattress

The upholstery is everything
that one could pay for. Above all
it is revealing — of his cheek,
his neck, his breast. His other thing.

The Grecians, as the Cardinal
will tell you, were less rigid in
their definitions. Every tall
and pale unshaven man was called

a Gaul. Desire was no sin
but a compliment paid by the gods
to those whose services pleased them,
and to their relatives. For him

to not admire this well wrought
embodiment of pleasant youth
asleep and confident, to not
so flatter beauty, would be wrong.

Would not, if I may tell the truth,
pay near so well as has this large
stone cushion which (it is best viewed
at a distance) has become a new

attraction in itself. There are
no sculptures that requite one’s touch.
But some, like mine, like him, are carved
deceivingly: though cold and hard

beneath the human hand and much
too still to be supposed alive,
they look more real than God. Near such
one feels that one is being watched

by sleeping marble lidded eyes,
whatever other men might think,
that if awoken in the night
would see us in a better light.