Write Largely You Say God Lost His Bifocals

Here amid the stone corridors of a cathedral

Where it is rumored and I’ve heard it said

So many of your transparent selves—panting

Melodramatically—move toward the white

Wedge of a window through which they glide

One by one into a garden of some very curious

Magnolias and—listen—here in this garden they

See wads of blustery pink azaleas here where 

Your several selves cringe at the feral smell

Of ruined innocence here where deep laughter
Drowns in damp shadows and mice gnaw skulls  
Of careless cats here where white cockroaches
Chew the fine bones of hateful hummingbirds

Here where what burns in the sun wants to stop