133 Look at the blinding light through the mosaic of my eyes Holding your flow of paint tight in the clasp of zealous lines. Climb up my stairs of sighs straight to the chamber of my ribs. Enter my doors to pray, and on my benches, calmly, sit. Come. Burn your vexing wax till your arousing candles melt. Bring me your rout -- to still; venom -- to paint my frescoes. Stay. Ring in my longing bells loud with your melody of want Till you dissolve my glass, burn my closed doors, and melt my walls.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems