wasn't there a certain elegiac grace
in our halting voices, telling out our truths?
a room full of precious many-colored birds
of the same sacramental spirit...?
just so, love's bounty was slain by fear this night
until no sky is left that doesn't mourn the light
until nothing comes but the comforter's voice
to wash off the stink of my disbelief
and, replenished, to love wastefully the vacant heart