Jan Iwaszkiewicz

Let us sing of the godling boy...

for he was blue-eyed beautiful. He gurgled glee
and let his laughter lilt and spill upon the ground.
His smile would make the morning gold and slow the sun.
He held us hard in chubby fists of ecstasy.

Yet when he died, I read what the autopsy found:
both orbits held rogue stars and his damned heart had spun
its gifted life inside a mirrored cavity.