As the day grows thin

I awake from her loud snoring,
The sun blooms on the horizon.
Fog clings close to my closed window
And the sea calls to my eyelids.
Dew is sliding on my doorstep
As the daylight breaks on prisms.
She yawns sweetly to a songbird
And I mourn my broken prison.
Smoke is pouring through the kitchen
From the oven to the table.
My lover's eyes shine gently
Behind locks of flint and sable.

What if Jesus carried his cross
Across mountains to the valley
Where the lepers are the princes
Of the gutters and the alleys?
There they rule their mighty kingdom
From their thrones of ash and cinder
And their rags are robes long tattered
From a thousand long Decembers.
Could he ever cure their sadness
With the eyes that God once gave him?
Would he cry in perfect silence
Knowing none could ever save them?

So I close my empty Bible
And I wash my hands with water.
The floral patterns swirl from the
Wind that blows upon the harbor.
I then fold my palms together
As the train howls like a phantom.
A man peers from hidden mirrors
In the garden of his mansion.
The snow melts slowly on his cheeks
While he lights his ancient sorrow.
He still dreams of days long vanished
And the promise of tomorrow.

But as he climbs into his tomb
The dusk crawls in through my chimney.
She will never be my true love
But she is so warm beside me.
My bed knows no other lover;
I am faithful to my demons.
She brings only darkness with her
But she listens to my grievance.
So I lay below the altar
Where the sacrifice is offered
And I know she will unbind me
From the sins that I have suffered.