Stephen Mangan

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The Harlot At The Window

To my beloved
my window is always open,
whether it face East or West
or North or South.

Gazing through my window,
peering forth through blinds,
I watch him leap and dance
and sing with him his psalms.

Through clerestory windows,
with clear story signs,
I set forth ravens
a cord and red twine

(and never despise him) .

Though he love all,
the fools love only him,
their Rome, their Mecca,
their Jerusalem; their window

from which they'd push me,
have me fall among their prophets
to feed the yapping dogs.
Though they scatter my remains,

my head, my feet, my palms
to the quarters of the earth,
from the depths of East and West,
the depths of South and North

my window is always open,
to our beloved.

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