I became a choirboy,
as if an old world
attracted a new world,
with the chaste sound
of choral hymns, found
through the open door
of a church.
It was not the epiphany
of conversion.
My heart reflected
everything that entered it.
I was as vulnerable to God
as I was to ice cream,
to sex,
to the unison of melodic
chords.
And to an archangel,
pitiless disciplinarian,
who beckoned an aimless boy
to a pew before the others
entered,
and played anthems
to him alone.
And so for the several years
I sang in his choir,
he would play, before rehearsal
and I would listen
before the choir assembled.
For all his harshness
I received a diffident kindness,
that excluded the others, and
was never challenged.
So we are sometimes loved,
which I believe I was,
pitied,
which I believe I was,
and given a tower,
a hospice, which I believe
for no other reason,
than I be safeguarded,
and allowed
happiness.