Evening Prayer

Evening Prayer

I spend my
life sitting – like an angel

in the hands of a barber – a deeply fluted beer mug

in my fist, belly and neck curved,

a Gambier pipe in my teeth, under the air

swelling with impalpable veils of smoke.

Like the warm excrements in an old dovecote,

a thousand dreams burn softly inside me,

and at times my sad heart is like sap-wood bled

on by the dark yellow gold of its sweats.

Then, when I have carefully swallowed my dreams,

I turn, having drunk thirty or forty tankards,

and gather myself together to relieve bitter need:

As sweetly as the Saviour of Hyssops

and of Cedar I piss towards dark skies,

very high and very far;

and receive the approval of the great heliotropes.