once more this meeting place
three minutes more in silence
the four walls spin and turn bereaved
her many faces clock-wise to a faith;
as frozen man in the pocket of the Wren
heart upturned on her buttered wings descent
from merry-mad to the seething cobbles age
six score years on the yeast of simple sorrow;
as beggar on a church-crawl racing time
red meat bright as powder flickers lame
to secrets of the tongue to far beyond
to pluck man\'s Adams-apple from the vine;
no less a pregnant man than he and I
ears march to the drumming mandrake as she sings
of heaven in a bridal gown
to hells forbidden son;
(where comes a truer meaning of it all?)
once more this meeting place
as frozen man in the pocket of the Wren
as beggar on a church-crawl racing time
no less a pregnant man than he and I;
(where hides my mothers womb of understanding?)