Yours but not at Wadham

There's beauty in sandlice,    
skipping over the cathedral I drew
in sand droppings,  
shape of my Mother's face  
her gentle rain  
that never let me go.    
And the sea sings in Moons and Compasses,    
hungers for toes,  
a truth only the baptised know  
and I don't mean on the floors of mankind,
but earth divine,    
rocks me,  
strokes me,  
thieves  
my mind and immerses her  
in white lines,  
shaving away  
shadow decay,  
made from fingers and clothes,    
I take them  
off my skin,  
burn the humanity,    
burn the sky and lay  
peaceful,  
giving myself over,    
not for show,    
wild orb of purity -
so unafraid,  
with no delay.
There's no malice here,
know I'll always care  
in deep, bound shadow  
but I crave the light    
and so,  
as we so often do,  
I purge what's unhealthy,    
blind myself to it,    
write  
something wild,  
something right.    
full-hearted.  
The sandlice bounce over my soles.