Certain that you will return, song,
at an uncertain time,
I wait like someone who lives
alone, for the visitation.
I know, through signs and angels and strays,
that desolate dreams blossom
into flowers on the ground.
Just flowers, no nimbuses on the buttonhole.
Flowers for the table,
with the scent
of water, wine and bread.
Just flowers and you,
my nameless love,
and our double hunger
for a naked boy.
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