In my parish all the Titans
spoke the officialese
when they propounded me
to be coeval
I redeployed them
to hereof drift.
Under correction
the deifying spell
I had delayed to cast
was sworn to come the last.
Their uncharted souls
cried unrequited
their bones repelled
when marrow was downpoured.

The seventh day rushed into print
they wangled my halo
ran it down
and cringed.

Their last eavesdropper
is now dust
under a hatchment
had hid to ruminate
about his loss
within yards of me.
Except
his cross
is verdigris.