Hymen

Listen to the voice in the cliff and the marriage in the drum.

Sacked is the tall city and flood storms the dead tower.

A conscript of no creed and a bride of no century,

His helmet full of poems, her trousseau full of bandages,

Rooted in chains of penitence of penury,

Plead with the saints who enter lion's cages.

A soldier and a nurse with a stage for an altar

Kneel like marionettes till kingdom come,

In the ikon's painted laughter

He touched her bridal gown.

It grew stiff as a shroud.

Mad as his blood she died

When the spires in her eyes fell down,

And he was married to hereafter.