For B.B. (September 22)

You are icon

In a place of forbidden icons,

A light

In the place of The Light.

Pale pink in the pulpit,

‘Gainst its oaken stay.

The hallowed white neck

Solemn gifted to men of old

Does thy brave one

So proud behold.

Into this cave of men

A voice comes bright,

A voice into this old place

Of The Light.

Could we be a place beyond the walls?

Do we have it –

Are we well equipped

Like we say we are

With our metal gifts?

I think we once forgot

Of these suits –

Metal molten moves, as should we.

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