The lady in the desert with forehead
of gold and hand of silver drinks the flood
and swallows fire, eats of the land's
fat honey and its lunar milk. No birds,
no buzzards, circle bodies of the slain --
uncircumcised, slain by the sword -- but bride
and bridegroom joyously live out their days
and round of cuckoo clock. His marriage of
the bread and wine in hearts and minds who strengthens
hearts and fills the minds with light sounds joyously.
He grows up His choice vineyard, builds a tower
out of uncut stones amid it, builds a
wall of uncut stone about it, bids the
nations and the people enter; passing
nations through the fire and peoples through the
water. His conjunction of the root
and branch bears fruit, all useful deeds, all conscientious
acts, all quenching of strange fires of nations
and all purifying of the bitter
waters of the peoples. Kings and Queens
stream into New Jerusalem. The length
of love and breadth of truth and height of their
degree of marriage are all equally
our Lord. And Peter, James, and John is He,
and root and branch and fruit, and Father, Son and Ghost.
