Revelation
No Scripture has authority like light
On hair. Religion is an effigy
Of burning love. Compared with you last night,
Asleep in my embrace, philosophy
Is just insomnia—and God a dream
Contrasted with the memory of your lips
Against my mouth. The theologians seem
Amorphous substitutes for arching hips.
The whole of music, art and poetry,
Cathedrals and the sweep of satellite
Are less important than trajectory
Of shoulder from beneath the sheet—or sight
Of eyelash twitching at an edge of yawn.
Your sleep is a theophany at dawn.