Complete time has singularity built in
or so the shroud of rag comforts those who quail
born of starstroke darkly haloed
by their interlocking shadows
glowing red and green through the fabric of a tent.
Terebinth which has for its coloured object
only the contoured surface
the flesh-pink bloom salves and rustic epithalamia
desert macerations and the unity of consciousness
subject to change in a region of eternal truths
blessed by Hermes drinking lemonade and zibib.
Love-tokens kept as sentimental relics work
a lovely little situation
frescoed prelates on the wall of a narthex
cling grimly to an echo of this same love of self
notwithstanding fire of thorns
acoustic eros a philosophy softened with fables
most spiritual among bodies indefinable
the colour of white bones or bared nerves.
A vast log burns slowly all through Advent
a fresh leak of pain on the spiritual shelf
the high point of the ritual rare
scattered and fugitive like natural beauty
except that no part of nature is beautiful.