Lightning buzzes, shatters his aura
and adrenalates tribal
to the doubled over soul crease in the lily and linen.
Caricatures on the roof of the hotel leap to life:

Vega, Arcturus, the Orphic cross within the hunter
sound off the four corners of wind
originating from an ancient inn.
And across the land,
from the porter to the four-poster bed.

The verdant pasture now fully
bloomed on his rosy cheeks.
His touch spawns a full-winged angel.
His touch destroys her heart's expectations.
His hand or word a hammer regarded without scope.
An open center, yet not central-point of chasm
Over the alcove and the alley.

His sweat-covered brow undertakes
a craft not fully understood by him
Whose seeds have lain on her breast
--and she, the true local deity--

Who names swiftly the day, rock, home.