45*21

why the long face Albert?
does it take but an instant for a mountain
us on it high to fold
A mag of wine
we teeter between science and religion
only soon neither make sense
Us and you Albert
against the red wall paper
magnificent light must shine through
for you to be able to see
So they made you a saint
You may have been born a raccoon
but nobody will lie and say it's not so
inside the beveled landscapes
of a Dominican monastery
you can hear the efficiencies crackly
like teeth from a stepped on skull
and try to breathe new life
into the wings of a bird of paradise
& those lost to us hanging over the ridge
of forever