Lamentation

for M.

I guide my soul by darkended stars
& the unmourned secret daughter
gives a tenebrific summons:
maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

This is where I have been broken
& the unmourned secret daughter
whispers as she touches me here
& here & where there is swelling.

I have no chart for this longing
& the unmourned secret daughter
invokes the liturgy of want,
relentless as a mockingbird.

& I am nothing save desire
for the unmourned secret daughter
that left behind her shoes for us,
the saintly, sweet Prince Nicholas.