Though a veil has been unfurled
between the realms of flesh and spirit,
for those who can discern it,
there are thin places in this world.
Some, sacred for the fallen warrior
whos blood seeped deep into the sod.
And some are consecrated by God;
thin by decree of Nature.
In such a place she came to me,
the seventh star of pleidees.
Her passions brought me to my knees
within a grove of maple trees.
In mystic place where immortals stand,
under the power of this nymph
I swooned as autumn leaves fall limp
onto the sod of sacred land.
This, to her, was unappealing.
Perceiving my mortal weakness,
she gave to me a poisoned kiss
and left me without hope of healing.
There I sat, day after day,
often climbing Jacobs ladder.
Heavens gate I beat and battered
and then resigned myself to pray
Autumn now has turned to winter.
I would the ladder were a staircase
for lightning never struck the same place.
This thin place, my sepulcher.