War Is A Fevered God

O Do Not Weep, She Says, For Ages Past I Was And I Endure

Dance Until The Earth Dance.

Until It Seems The Whole City Will Be Covered With Gold Pollen Shaken From The Bell-towers, Lilies Plundered With The Weight Of Massive Bees . . .

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

Let Love Step Down, Open The Clasped Hands, Forfeit The Thorny Crown, Retrieve The Garment That Was Whole, Body And Spirit One, Spirit And Soul.