Who says the devil is safer ?
A drunk confessor
in black and white?
washed in tears, he has his good points, too.
An ancient light, not so much useful as indebted to the
Day it shines on, to the space it takes on,
To the hidden woman with juggling fingers
Who won’t say whether she was visited in the night
By travelling seraphim
Who were really goyim
Who only left a dry signature
On the swift air, and say, “we were never here.”