In the cathedral with the showering of tears
Down from the innocence of frescoes on the ceiling,
Painted with guilty eyes dissolving bane in incense,
With air so dense, so moist -- the choir forgets to breathe,
I saw my face kissed by innumerable lips --
Sealed in the burning gilt of chilling trembling candles,
Burnished and losing, wounding you, forbidden angles,
But still dissolving incense in the bane of guilt,
My blue of reticence on bleeding red of hips
Nailed to the icon by your hammer of desire,
Eyes on my face not blind, but blunted by the choir.
I saw -- I held your child, whom I could barely see.