"I give you my hands to your work
I give you
If I could catch a glimpse
Of your grand design
I'd see
A moment when reason
Has gone astray
Suspended by threads
That begin to
Venerate her under many names
As a pagan mystic rose
Perfect prostitute
Exact, total circle
Without defect
Perennial cycle
As Solomon’s temple
Per
Nothing could save the Baptist
Not cross, not altar, nor crucifix
Old
At the threshold of the dark
Whispering adoration
Like the breath of
Inspiring men to envy
Murder and vanity
Nurturing conceit and pride
Hollow in
Believe in everything and nothing
My lushest of orchids
To scratch beneath