from The Walk
shut up the church doors.
forget the man outside.
when the crepe-paper flower
hangs a trumpet by the altar,
and the last babe at time's gate is born;
when the door-jambs are stuck
on the late-night virgin;
when Midas inherits the glowing lake
and the elements themselves retire;
when the death-wings of a Christ
awake incandescent and fly
to snowfields awash with eyes;
where a prince tends screaming children,
and all the mirrors lie shattered
in a distant sea;
'til the morning comes,
I will watch.