No One Knows The Colour Of A

The Christos-image Is Most Difficult To Disentangle From Its Art-craft Junk-shop Paint-and-plaster Medieval Jumble Of Pain-worship And Death-symbol.

The Fallen Hazel-nuts, Stripped Late Of Their Green Sheaths, The Grapes, Red-purple, Their Berries Dripping With Wine, Pomegranates Already Broken, And Shrunken Fig, And Quinces Untouched, I Bring Thee As Offering.

It Is No Madness To Say You Will Fall, You Great Cities.

Think Of The Moment You Count Most Foul In Your Life; Conjure It, Supplicate, Pray To It; Your Face Is Bleak, You Retract, You Dare Not Remember It.

Alas, Day, You Brought Light, You Trailed Splendour You Showed Us God: I Salute You, Most Precious One, But I Go To A New Place, Another Life.