What the Preacher Said

Nor kiss nor coin nor absinthe
Shall save you,
Nor blurring of beer nor frail glory
of laughter enflowering you
Nor self-love
Nor the mind,

Nor taste of sun nor herb
Nor logic-proof
Nor noise of jukebox rush,
Nor rhythmic prayer of priestly Jew,
Nor of pagan,
Nor of lust.

Nor church nor alms nor knees
bent in worship, you
Shall want for heaven but for this:
The blood of the risen Christ to enwrap you
Without remission
Without sin.