At the Cathderal
one dusk,
the general image,
that of receding
glint of the sun's lair

The cupola of the basilica,
the basis of its strength;
the idyll-lined frames
for green verse

An idealist I may be,
but certainly no iconoclast

But at the cathedral
this dusk,
black talons of confetti
and silver coins
with the obverse faces of ex-convicts
besiege me.