Old poetry: Finding a Lover in St. Mungo's Cathedral

Deceivingly Presbyterian,
St. Mungo leers at human faces
through Scottish fog.

Inside, groves of stone saplings
sprawl up and hold hands
at the corner of the cathedral.

I look for your frame
in every arch.

Chart the topography
of your collarbone
in every column,
and study the lovely
architecture of your back.

Through your bending bones
stained light breaks
Paul’s face in half.

The rays, like leaves,
brush my arm,
warm, and
soft.