Cold on my narrow cot I lie
and in sorrow look
through my window—square of black:
 
figured in the midnight sky,
a mosaic of stars
diagrams the falling years,
 
while from the moon, my lover’s eye
chills me to death
with radiance of his frozen faith.
 
Once I wounded him with so
small a thorn
I never thought his flesh would burn
 
or that the heat within would grow
until he stood
incandescent as a god;
 
now there is nowhere I can go
to hide from him:
moon and sun reflect his flame.
 
In the morning all shall be
the same again:
stars pale before the angry dawn;
 
the gilded cock will turn for me
the rack of time
until the peak of noon has come
 
and by that glare, my love will see
how I am still
blazing in my golden hell.

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