God is Truth
All Friday we lay in bed
Our cupped hands were raised in prayer
                                            to Love

Our tongues praised
Our minds wondered

Love!    Whorish love
that has transcended the bed
and spilled into the streets
that hems in the ocean
which is again locked into our eyes

Wandering moon
Waxing waning moon
Books were written in alphabets
Curved like your curvature
Shining like your splendour

The moons of our bodies
waxed and waned
The hour of Friday prayer came and went
We are praising yet.

22 December 1995

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