What we don’t need when in a poem about nakedness

We don’t need a skinny naked bell ringer
underestimating the weight of a bell,
flying through the roof of a belltower
in a poem about nakedness, however much a belle.

We don’t want words of longing
attaching themselves to words about loss,
losing grip of the rope
in a poem about nakedness,

the congregation’s faces a picture on the way down,
on the way up, and whomever is laughing,

we don’t need laughing in a poem about nakedness,
before the faces of the congregation, through the spires
and beyond, all in wonder with the colour of sky.

We don’t want the sky to be blue, for there to be a sun
to illuminate something with a flock of birds passing,

for who needs flocks of birds in a poem about nakedness
when the sky is indigo, when stars are at their windows

peering down from light years ago? Who needs stars
in a poem about nakedness, when beyond all naming
of stars, they say there is a perfect image of you,

beyond an open window, launching smoke rings
at night - all quiet,

when we don’t want an open window launching smoke rings
in a poem about nakedness, as the box

marked with a cross opposite, just one garden length away
lights the night sky with aura from beyond the inside,

when we don’t need aura from beyond the inside
in a poem about nakedness.