poem for pastors

there is no escape by the river
we break the glass whose sacred wine
the old west, the old time
renew the vision of delight
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
up from the south at break of day
the agony of having too much power
i've won the race
to come so soon to this imagined dark
why are the things that have no death
let us express our baser passions
gone are the three, those sisters rare
the fragrance came
she said