If my body were a temple,
You would be the God
To whom it was devoted.
But temples can be demolished,
Invaders can desecrate the shrine;
It can be ravaged by fire, torn down,
Or weathered and broken by time.
I think instead, my body is a forest,
When destroyed, burnt or broken
It will flourish once more.
And you would be the wild Horned God
Who lingering, presides there;
Under shady boughs of rhododendrons
With hawthorn leaves within your hair.