The red trail
Of the Nazarenes' pain
Fingers in the shadows
Of the evening
As I watch the hands
Of the clock inch round
Like memories.
This is the time of the living
And I a vestige of the dead
Firm in a useless glamour
In which I cannot sleep.
Beside me my lover slips to dreams
Astounded at the mention
Of emotion, remote as the Word
Of God which wavers,
Murmurs then leaves
As I could leave with or without you,
My name, like religions, vanished
In a splendid turn of phrase
Recounting The Christ
And His God, my soul
Lost to such usual pleasure.
And as the moon satisfies her stars
All heavenliness goes and the sky,
Black as my frame of mind, is wanton,
Almost 2 am, the one memory
Now the smile on your face beside me
Deceitful and true as this misplaced prayer
In a morning approaching the other side of us.