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For Our Consummate Passover

the sacrament is loosed; 
the trays go as a fleet of grace 
into our garnered sea 
of lap and hand, 
and this envoy, 
this ark of my covenant 
lilts over me: a gentle craft
riddled with remembrance 

Crucifixion in Judea

The myth and the reality convey the sign: 
INRI, but we in the distance of history, 
Precise and limitless, survey and then define 
His suffering again, for our consistory. 
We know in the analogues of formulative speech 
That Pretonious drove Him down against the cross 
And split His palms where they could reach. 
Crimen est actio before this miracle of dross. 

A Translation of Paul Valery’s “Ebauche D’un Serpent”: Sketch of a Serpent

In the tree, the soft breeze cradles 
The viper that I wear. 
A smile, where the fang strikes 
Appetites into flame, 
Drifts, like a prowler, through the Garden, 
And my emerald mask unwinds 
A split tongue into the blue. . . 
A beast, a cunning beast, 
And my venom is vile—but it leaves 
Wise hemlock far behind! 

“Man” and the Telefinalist Trap

Far too often, I suspect, when people begin to talk about men, their talk wells up out of strong feelings and emotional views and such talk pricks us deeply if we have contrary views. After…