More Sonnets At Christmas IV

Gay citizen, myself, and thoughtful friend,

Your ghosts are Plato's Christians in the cave.

Unfix your necks, turn to the door; the

Gives back the cheated and light

So long sequestered; now, new-rich, you'll

Flesh for reality inside a

Whose light obstruction, like a gossamer bone,

Dead or still living, will not break or bend.

Thus light, your flesh made pale and

And put off like a dog that's had his day,

You will be Plato's kept philosopher,

Albino man bleached from the mortal clay,

Mild-mannered, gifted in your master's

While the sun squats upon the waveless seas.