Sicut Lilium

for Denis Clarke

The very stones of Oxford sound
illustrious madrigal. Water-side
a figure on a bike berates an eight.
What epiphany, seen of the mind
has the live mortal? Words are rocks, tungsten,
sand, flower-glass, myrrh. O on a journey
of truest breath – at last a breathless truth
pin-points a lily in the stars.

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