Verse VIII
And the devil is crying
for god has forgiven even him,
and he is once again filled by the warmth of god
and together, myself, god, and the devil
walk slowly into the night like three drunken lovers,
and there, by the river we see
Walt Whitman with another young boy,
we laugh and smile for he is part of us and
we are part of him and we offer him some of
Bacchus’ wine and he drinks with us and
we drink with him and we walk past
Potomac and sleeping death rivers,
falls carved into stone as old as dinosaurs
if not older, great works of art and
I long to know the artist and yet
he is within me,
lightning flashes, my spirit howls for him,
I love him, and he loves me and
he fills me with all that I am and
I am what he fills me with
and we are one.