on this day of wrath
i hold in my hand
a morning glory

her pawn’s precision
his knight’s reckless encounter
nobody gets board

you are enlightened
smiling buddha seems to say
in his mass of gold

i built no edifice;
no memory remains
so why should any winter
wipe my footprints clean? 

the gravity of me
every particle of
my far-divested self
my names and pseudonyms
my angry battlefields

sit here in the shape
of water and of fire
who am i am i

neurotic would be
thinking insane but you know
that i am really

psychotic would be
i think i am i know i
but you know i’m not

stand here in the shape
of earth and air adamant
you think you are sane?

all flesh is as light
two thousand golden apples
are a memory

a cross encircled
did the unremembered laugh
celtic to the last?

grey flowers display
masons bow beneath the sky
that their hammers wrought

shield ringed with fire
eight gates pierced with light above
what rough beast was made?

pilgrimage ends here
the century’s weary hands
play a nave of swords

old stone holds old air
a thousand years of sainthood
stained glass, empty vaults

shielded from the sky
this sanctity will survive
the meaning of god

gritty in the box
more friendly than tobacco
steam arouses it

exchanging flowers
crimson in the yellow flame
we buried many