The feeling on the island was

that a god had come here to die.

We met lesser angels wandering

drunk through the hills,
accusing passers-by of paying

tax to many-tongued deserts,

beasts muscled in shadow and

serpents who chase their tails 
like dogs. We argued about the

rites held on the ridgeline of

her lips, where churches flock

like vultures. Priests there class
the old image of love as reptile

and the new one as heresy.

Accordingly, we sat around the table

looking for answers and taking 
on the dimensions of a white bull.

We waited until the sky darkened

and each moon rose, rehearsing

cruel omens: the engine 
of a vacuum will choke out of sight,

the legions will form a testudo

and the rain will beat down their shields,

the mirror will sag exhausted into pose
and the pale tongues loll in unison,

the city of gates will uncurl its fist and

the ship will miss the reef, but

only just, the captain 
will turn and ask, ‘Did you see that?’