On the giant’s hill, in the child’s eye,

the old house stands hermaphrodite,

the mother-father rolled in light.

In brazen day, that Zion’s done:

a trumpet cry to still the sun.



Beware, my love, beware, beware,

the sky’s on fire and the air

is singed along its western rim.

Desire for day at dusk grows dim.



In the city’s prism, in the schism light,

the rain bends down the neon night.

Unseen, sequestered daughters cry

and in his bed a young man mourns

the Babylon of traffic horns.



Cold heart beneath the city street,

the subway lines, the sewers’ heat,

Cold heart that hates a lovers’ twine,

why break my lover’s heart from mine?



In the frozen zero, in the center night,

a cold heart plots against the light

and schemes to hide all range of sky.

The cities of the plain will change

my love to salt, her love to strange.