roll call

Cast your life and grief in plaster relief.
When your lovers leave, keep and gild their teeth.

Pane past scenes in iron-framed stained glass screens
In cathedrals where the light braids its streams.

Concentric circles, the shafts bend and seep
And the shafts bow and weep and wash your feet.

Light fields spin to gold and back into wheat.
We watch in rows with scythes, and do not reap.