The steeple stretches up into the soft
heaven, the spires cannot help but believe
in the changing clouds. I can see her lift
herself above me just like the broad curve
of the sky hangs over the land. I've solved
the mystery, I've grabbed the slight waist
and taken her. O what worship is given
to the day by the birds! O how I thirst
for her flesh, the dark plum of her breast
under a new disguise! I watch her stand
in the warm light, I watch the turning mist
caress her shoulders. I can feel the sand
turn into glass. She lays across the couch
and is the tabernacle that I'm touching.
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