To A Jilted Lover

Cold on my narrow cot I lie

and in sorrow look

through my window-square of black:

figured in the midnight sky,

a mosaic of stars

diagrams the falling years,

while from the moon, my lover's eye

chills me to death

with radiance of his frozen faith.

Once I wounded him with so

small a thorn

I never thought his flesh would burn

or that the heat within would grow

until he stood

incandescent as a god;

now there is nowhere I can go

to hide from him:

moon and sun reflect his flame.

In the morning all shall be

the same again:

stars pale before the angry dawn;

the gilded cock will turn for me

the rack of time

until the peak of noon has come

and by that glare, my love will see

how I am still

blazing in my golden hell.