Gilt Thin on a Black Lacquer Chinese Screen
No dragons hold my love up in their claws
For you. My love is not important or
White mythical enough for that. No pause
Inside the cosmos happens when I pour
Devotion out beneath your feet for you
To walk through as a drug. No dragons splay
Their scaly tails in reverential, true,
Sharp awe. No magic lizard-like array
Of yellow satin silk is lifted in
The skies by mesmerism of these beasts.
They really do not care. They don’t begin
To ponder it. It’s laughable that priests
Have held such things up, dragons think, in prayer.
They think it’s more an item for despair.