When you stopped being able to make it beautiful
the spiritual bypass ended,
ugliness finally surfaced, in a nearby muddy lake
no pure water blossom
only the yellowing lily leaf, here
take my hand
and stroll the bank with me
we will separate out your true goodness
from what you so desperately made
this landscape
out to be

When you stopped being able to make it beautiful
all things became possible,
reality set in without weight,
and an entirely new cross revealed itself,
You were unable to recoil
from the sting of ridicule and judgment
there—
Do you see?

We are at present at the dabbing of the vinegar now,
nothing flowers in the hot dust
this air
up here
rings with the Ages’ soreness
all that’s left is for us to be cleansed
for a new beauty
To the foot of the Aspen
you must go
wrest,
rest
Slumber delivers tomorrow to you