Melchizedek

Morning lilt and lilt of tongue

English breakfast breaks the spell

Living air in livid lung

Cretins catch the morning EL

High it rises, high it climbs

In a rushing sapphire breeze

Zips along in lucid climes

Edified in asphalt seas

During every strained commute

Every eye constrains its mind

King of swords and priest of goût

Is it real, or am I blind?

Sibyll sends her sour sign

Tracing faces in the rain

Hoary, permanent design

Everything malign to gain

Trained to suffer, trained to build

Outer beings kiss the cold

Nazarenes approach the guild

Guile has willed a world of gold

Unguents poured from alabaster

Enter every perfect pore

On that wall of sodden plaster,

Fateful fingers find a door.

Dim impulses of unknowing

Revelations for the blind

Ebbing, turbid, draining, showing

Appellations meant to bind

Middle-age for middle-ages

Solitude for succored sages