Conductus (Feb. 2004)

For centuries the church owned song’s
High blue heaven -- its psalms intoned
as on the backs of angels who
Finned sea zeniths with their wings, whose
Unearthly fire was for God’s heart.
To sing lower risked sulphur’s ire.
Then a minstrel risked a new song
Which trothed church airs to a maid’s cunt.
No one could resist that devil bray
Which rollicked street to court. Later
Songs pearled hymns to love, courtly tales
Of noblesse silk. The new cathedral
Rose stone by singing stone. These poems
Once obeyed what old angels taught.
They sing now from this funky cot.