To get away from religion,
I did what I pleased today.
I greeted the sun—which owns light and its dome of blue—
As if it were a cloud, or a dying thought of you—drifting away.
My morning was a yawning blank.
There was no one who needed me, and no one to thank.
No altar, temple, or undertow
To people belief or fill a church with one sometimes as kind as you,
There was no candle for my cave, no chanting music graced my den;
No buildings were built, no slaves were made
To build canopies of comfort and shade;
Sweetly alone, I watched my loneliness well.
There were no reminders or alarms;
No fruits or candies, no gauzy charms;
The hours did not feel like hours and there was no bell.
No meal was cooked, no plates set in rows.
Noon never came, with trumpet or horn.
There were no friends, nor friends of foes;
No voices. No praise. No scorn.
No face of saint was judged too pale,
Or lacking the right artistic touch,
No harrowing stories of bloodshed or whale,
No heroes, no descendants of such-and-such,
Disturbed the peace of my contemplative sleep.
No mourners with candles entered the evening to weep.
I didn’t have to worry about my dress,
Or what sandals surrounded my toes,
Or the best thorns for my crown,
For when had we ever considered those?
You walked naked in the naked day
For you belonged to me naked, in the naked night.
For the naked in this naked world, loneliness is right.
Take the lily from my brow, for I just burn it up,
Take away my incense, my icon, my carved and painted cup.
I’m devoted to myself. The sun. The sun has not come up.
