Oceans moved across my eyelids
As I was drenched in the heart of this, the mountain’s fire
By then, the standards from which the earth is seen
Was in itself, a moon light’s dream
Mirrors upon these mirrors
Made sparks to build these, the abstractions
And in this it is seen
Oh, behold this, the image of my sin
On that fateful hour, where I was the heart of death
But now in this eon which is repentance
I am on the fog of a stairwell
And I am deeply
In the purity of the wind
Which grows like steam in the wild jungle
Pure bird, that dove which is only of the light
This is it, the power, and the might
From which I find all soft and tender things
Delicately is that, my ring
This my heart
My heart is this
A holy wall
For it is therein
That I have sinned
And now it is
Where I am forgiven
By the salt of prayer, and mercy, and kindness
I can be anything
But I am that which is re-imagined
I am a dove
By the light of these ages
I flood our forests like the rain
And I spread the world
All in this
Only our infinite bliss.
(Penance, EB).