The Amber Cathedral

Once again I go for the morning swim
In golden cathedral light - for good health,
They say, and less unsanctioned thoughts.
But the saintly, water-thick control
Fails and your precious admonitions

All slip me, like the fingerlings
Of clear blood and no heat,
That flee my tardy clasp
And scatter out and scurry off
Into protective sand.

So the walls of my palace,
My amber cathedral,
Will be drowned — and so the queen,
The king, the sons, the daughters.
A leaky crack, a rat hole -

Feverishly empty -
Will be the hollow point
To the stain-glassed skull,-
And it will tremble, bound and nailed
To its muted solemnity.

The candlelight mosaic moves
Across the heavy air — a dozen
Humming, polished-winged cicadas;
The grotto of the ceiling
Chokes on its own spit;

The intercostal rib vault
Cage contracts and overflows; and
His hair floats up like weeds
In rainstorm charge. Away
The face, as still as Sunday noon,

Of my beloved vision.
«It’s beautiful» he breathed
And never caught my touch -
And my amber cathedral will be
Drowned, drowned, drowned.