the holy bender of strings
the one who makes the wood cry out
shot an arrow into my door
a cryptic message of longing and desire
not burning until it landed
then, like a broken promise
it was gone
a secret meeting in a doorway
’twas to be brief, but then,
we could not resist, could we
we lifted the lid
oh time capsule of prayer
lamp from which the Jin will emerge
she glows with the ragged elegance
of a mildly tarnished Scythian treasure
her throat is a fever of blooming
giving berth to the Belle of the Ball
every doorway leads to her grand blossom
a portal, a port hole
to the mother of pearl
smiling, saying
this way to the underworld
she is a kind of safe
if you know the combination
she leads to danger
of the delicious kind
one if her ancestors
is the Serpent
allowed into the Medieval Kirche
under the ruse of Théâtre Sacré
Cyprus metal bitten by the Tooth
wearing a cloak of silver
wearing a cloak of gold
sing to us of your birth year
of 1924
tell us a tale of his youth
for you are
offspring of the Belgian
in Robert Elwood’s name