From Wildgoose: The Sun God Poem by Sally Evans

This small rectangular garden reminds me
how a friend of a friend finally took me
to a Mithraeum on a snowy morning
in someone else's boots.
We sat, intruding on the spectacular
demonstration of sunrise in religion,
two of us brought together unwillingly
then scared by a goose.
In secret religions a creator dies
and love is at the heart of it in some way,
Maverick. Sex and religion are dangerous
to writers and poets.
This is a Sapphic metre. It has dance-steps
also a tune. I swore I would not give up
love for poetry. Both are bound together.
You have decided.
The goose will return soon, so will the sun-god.
Life will hassle and always be in the way
throwing me its obligations and delights.
Only gods can fly.
Served by the poets and archaeologists,
these rectangular gardens are our churches,
Damsons fall from the trees, but we won't notice.
We will be working.