tidings are a coat of many colors,
Lest warmth be the only use for clothes.
A moment of redemption is a blessing
Derived from generations of cross dressing,
The product of choice cloth from these and those,
In each of which are gnostic strips of others.
Deeper than the doting dreams of mothers,
In seas that lie beneath the ancient floes,
Neither touched nor untouched by transgressing,
Gripped alone by naked grace, one grows
Silent in synagogue of lovers.