To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god ~ J.L. Borges

[1] One dreams of what is Unattainable. The rain Outside spurns light. And inside, sleep feeds On memory’s slights.

[2] You surface again, my Severe Beatrice, in your Griffin drawn chariot, Eyes fixed heavenward, A lampshade of flame,

And demand I confess The sin of putting reason Above faith. I groan as I have done every time You passed by my side,

In the street, in the market, Neck craning in the direction Of your musk, eyes eagerly Scanning the gleeful mob For your damasked gait.

[3] I have been eating from Damnation’s plate, and the city is A river full of raving monsters In whose company you appear. Don’t take this as proof that my

Love for God is greater than my Love for art that is greater than My cursed love for you, for all These three remain indivisible even As they appear to stand separate.

[4] Beatrice, we will meet again And always, in the continuum Of life, which holds the words I write down on paper, which Holds the rain trickling down

The nape of your neck, That tree of salvation, That resurrection of time.