from Take Me To Church
She has waded through the dawn
of smoke-collared years,
sun of loss; her wing-spread tears
have canticled the favor of Divine,
dew-gloss her heart-ache glade
to spell the rapture of the faun.
Carry on, little starlight,
moon and stars direct your course.
May the heavens ever be
the honeyed fancies of your youth.
We had felt the witching hours
of the woman on the beast
with savage teeth.
We have watched unworldly flowers
claim inauguration's wreath
O virgin, keep your vigil through the night.