In the House of Carnal Murals
The painter used it to hold a special red
He touched the lips and freshest bite-marks with.
2
Until the Reformation, it was revered
As a relic of St Adaman.
The workers in a certain foundry cast
A bell, so heavy, it was said,
No apparatus could lift it to the belltower –
And afterwards were stricken one by one
With a kind of sleeping sickness.
In the middle of the fiery delirium
Of metal pouring, they would all fall quiet
And see green waterweed and stepping stones
Across the molten bronze.
So Adaman arrived and blessed their hands
And eyes and cured them, but at that hour
The bell too shrank miraculously
And henceforth was known to the faithful
And registered in the canons' inventory
As Adaman's Thimble.
3
Was this the measure of the sweetest promise,
The dipped thirst-brush, the dew of paradise
That would flee my tongue when they said 'A thimbleful'?
4
Now a teenager
With shaved head
And translucent shoulders
Wears it for a nipple-cap.
5
And so on.
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