The old house in which the heaven dwells
Like a moth on the bluish agony of the flame
there comes beside a saint a crooked thief to
part with his life lived usually on the streets
The saint could fit the scene like a wobbly walker
who desired more than moon every part of the sun
He would call the prayers a heavenly muse and an
angel came down to greet and thief parted with
the memory of all these the garden was lit like
the faint sounds of night calls as God was dressed
in motley hue. The colourless water nonetheless
a saintly fluid. the thief took the decrees there is
night calling for the party to go on and freeze .
The decree launched by the angels in footless merry
making and followed all till the yonder could be seen.