The river's applause fades 'round the ridge
like a candled freedom snuffed by a junta:

wounded echo. Crumbly shale of ocean

What they had for ideals
must persist in the taut set
of that rearing horse's head,

"Oh, murder!" she was heard to mutter, or
"Mary mother of god!" You see how close
these utterances come? Please kiss me, Mom.

Like knives,
the mountains around me sharpen,

This is why
when air gushes between mountains
we describe the wind

we bolted toward the limits of the earth.
Then fell

They’re discussing the ordeals of a hangover, and not at all
   of the crucifixion.

To be honest, no fireplace there to be seen
in this ultra sad landscape:

I have lost my bachelorhood to hands I’ve made
grasp the fabric of my most famous couch.

This is worship, one could say, as pure as white
sheets in the sun, though there is no sun now.