So, the Creche and Crucifix,
the Sages and the Saints,
for all the pain and longing
they exorcise or temporize,
are just supposed to bring me
to this casting off....
So, the chips of sacred wood,
the fragments of tortured bone,
gathered from my pockets,
and placed in my folded hands,
are just supposed to give me
the key to another portal....
So, the maxims that the blessed
chain passed on to me,
and the slogans that the teeming
throng instilled in me,
are just supposed to calm me
as I go into the dark....
So. the death of flesh and bone
is just another incubation;
a kind of excarnation.
So. what was flesh and bone
becomes a sliver of ciborium;
a spatial moratorium;
a temporal arboretum.
So. While I lived, I was frustrated
by a little time in a vast space.
Now, I am consecrated
to a little space for a vast time.
So. Finally. The Beginning. Again.
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