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

[1] One dreams of what is Unattainable. 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,

To demand that I confess To 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, eye eagerly Scanning the unruly mobs For your damasked gait.

[3] I have been eating from Damnation’s plate, and this 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, and that is greater Than my cursed love for you, for 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, The tree of salvation, The resurrection of time.