Once grew a black flower in your lawn which rose without the sun
And thrived despite the absence of the rain
There bloomed the petals dark and frail, a twisted stem of thorns
A blight upon your manicure of green
From basement studies and candle glow, the blot was on your mind
The sermon writ, the pictures straight and neat
Holding about you the marble weight to host a fleeting ghost
Against the hawklike pierce of those who passed
Still between conscience and shame you twisted, writhing all the while
But gathered now the mortar and the stone
Sparing both spade and the knife of guilt you built a tower fair
An edifice to veil your sore from view
Sparing both the spade and knife your hold resumed
Still the flower behind the wall, so hidden blooms
Once to awake to stranger near, the millstone and sword in the blossom
Now the cathedral bright and dear, to mend is to mask the uncovered
