Lame mirror,
maimed reflection of another heaven;
with limping saints
unshadowed by some rays of wonder;
some stories told to one-another
about a heaven empty,
with no beach…

I’m tempted to collect myself from yonder endings,
from where man, none has seen the no-man’s-land;
and where a rat, some mice, a cockroach and a shadow,
are altogether stars and public of another band…
………………………………………………………….
So tired I, and sick am;
and so I wish another century should be…

With signs and wonders
or at least a Peter,
expelling ravens from amongst the sheep.