The false hope - becomes real
With a wave of one handkerchief
- For you remember how you feel
At each turn of love's leaf.
If the thing - underneath
Merely fills the echo of space,
The face of God's the form bequeathed
- Fixing your gold from its base
Like any altared Lord
Can't exist without thankful breath
- Something later nailed to a board
That won't die a real death.
Heaven's in you - now Hell,
As if it's from something you've done.
The pictures you know all too well,
Subtracting one to one.
That thing you remember
Is not your old life, well disguised,
It's barely the flare of an ember
Pops the dense seed - outsized.
