This Way

So if our hearts be wise
Mind shall stumble on
Essential idolatries
Truth-sculptures.

And the strait gate
Adorned by dark
Infidel and the children
Of remorse,
Will it not be
Wider from the angle of this seeing?

Peace. The dogs whine
To love-strains
'Twere better departure
Crookedly.
Peace - a god's impotence.

Whither?
Let none pity,
Let none wink sagely - 
There be no prefects.