There are voices, offstage voices
singing ancient hymns in shifting key
while all the ice of the invisible world
is gathering here in my heart
in my clamoring heart.
Yet I am myself, I think
myself – blushing and dreaming
of vacant cathedrals.
I am myself.
The Lord, our God, made earth and sky
as we lay sleeping in ditches,
drunk and half-witted. I did drink,
aye, and dance, yes
but I did not sell myself.
I am penniless, not brainless.