Cana 2.0 Achebe

[RiverNotch]

CANA

Lilies blooming along the curb, 
shedding starlight like the tears 
on the face, the hair, the veil, the sex --

I trample them. Down the faithful road 
to the white house where the guests collide,
complaining about the wine, the groom, 

fresh from Egypt and the Jordan, 
passes with his crowd of lights 
like Saint Michael over the Nile. 

I wonder: when this hallowed boy was born 
and the temple veil was torn 
and the treacherous sex was proven true, 

did these lilies glow as bright? 
How wine blinds! In my mind tonight, 
there is only her face and fiery hair 

consuming east and west, 
and drops of silver running down her breast -- 
the promise echoes. The gates are shut.

A few bits were bothering me. The first draft is spoilered below, as per my growing usual.

CANA

Lilies blooming along the curb,
shedding bright and blinding starlight
like reflective tears perfuming
the face, the hair, the veil, the sex --

I trample them. When the hallowed boy was born
and the veil was torn
and the treacherous sex was proven true,
did they glow too?

I was not invited. The road runs straight
to the white house where the guests collide,
complaining about the wine -- and the groom arrives
with his crowd of lights.

I remember the promise. Fresh from the river Jordan,
the bride's hallowed brother imitates 
the Paskha with the pots like the rod of Moses
over the waters of the Nile --

how wine blinds! In my mind tonight,
there is only her face and fiery hair
consuming east and west,
and drops of silver running down her breast.

The gates are shut. 
The virgin's womb becomes a tomb,
and wedding bands, the devil's cords --
my Lord! my Lord! Forgive me!

CANA

Lilies blooming along the curb,
and from them starlight, bright and blinding,
perfuming the road, illuming the face,
the hair, the veil, the sex --

I trample them. When the hallowed son was born
and the veil was torn
and the treacherous sex was proven true,
did they glow too?

I was not invited. The road runs straight
to the white house where the guests collide,
complaining about the wine -- and the groom arrives
with his crowd of lights.

Fresh from the river Jordan,
the bride's cousin imitates the Paskha
with the pots like a dove descending
over the priest's promise --

how wine blinds! In my mind tonight,
there is only her face and fiery hair
consuming east and west,
and drops of milk running down her breast.

The gates are shut --
I remember her promise. Why did she forget?
Oh, those wedding bands are devils' cords --
but, my Lord, forgive!