"You made me stray from venial, Shannon lass,"
I said the night your laugh like legs in strut
marched me to cliffs of green and back. Cut glass,
you splintered, rapture likened to a sin, but

You haunt like ticket stubs in relic vests
from four-starred movie, eastered past. My
lost cinema. We catholic boys who dressed
in anxious wait for catholic girls who'd lie

In knee-socked truth. Our irished boasts ran fast
with cold-draught toasts, then rushed along to cat--
echismed pride. You clash with canons massed
these long, goodfriday years. Eyes mute in that

Last-rite tear, you went, sham rocked and rent,
as I retreat confessed and locked in lent