The Church Organ Plays While He, Watched, Prays

Pure son of an awful virgin
Who with careful eyes caress
The crushed velvet of his headshape
Whose aches unmuscle along his limbs.

While the turgid mass congeals in flow
And serpents writhe in dismal urge
That pierced heart within lip-wound void
Blows breath of innocent capitulation.

The host muzzled in a still piety
Raised once across the plain of penitents
Of whom one makes inward journey

That this day turn dream and sun to moon
Sickle-west to crown the sky,
Cloud to hide that watcher's lust.