Without you here I’m viciously lonely 
and I can’t remember the last time I felt holy, 
the last time I offered myself as sanctuary

——

and I couldn’t remember when I knew I’d never be beautiful, 
but it must  have been quick and subtle, 
the way the holy ghost can pass in and out of a room. 
I want so desperately to be finished with desire, 
the rushing wind, the still small voice.