Our path is an acrid flirtation with death
But it blossoms when the rain beats
The calm hair of the ground
Then I just la, la, la, la, la
A cat watches the night
She gleans stars with her eyes
She grumbles and just "purrs!"
A deceased poet writes an ode
For her tired furs
In the name of Christ's cross
In the name of Proust's loss
In the name of foe and ally
And truth and lie
