Junipers

Never one to laugh for the pleasure in mystery.
I was not the Jester of the Lord.
Serra, down in Monterey it was history,
And not a syllable more.
I sailed with an innocent flutter in my heart
To convert feathers to finery and fig-leaves.
Either not innocent enough, or ashamed to ask it all, I played my part.
Could you forgive me that, could you, please?
Sometimes a fervent man has to light the fire in his own breast,
Father, I beat myself into submission to save you the trouble. I realise
Philosophy won’t give a man more than two eyes and one thumping chest.
For that these stone cold bones lie. Beatified.