There's this cathedral in my head I keep making from cricket song and dying but rogue-in-spirit, still, bamboo. Not making. I keep imagining it, as if that were the same thing as making, and as if making might bring it back, somehow, the real cathedral. In anger, as in desire, it was everything, that cathedral. As if my body itself cathedral. I conduct my body with a cathedral's steadiness, I try to. I cathedral. In desire. In anger. Light enters a cathedral the way perusasion fills a body. Light enters a cathedral, the way persuasion fills a body.