The thought alone

 If the hand of god
had moulded from heaped flesh
a spire of glistening gold
that caressed the sun
with every stroke
of brushing wings of wind

to herald the being sublime
that perched upon its peak
and wound its will
about a shining shaft
of purest gilded light

to inscribe the words swimming
in the distant silence
within the meat of sapphire skies
and tapped the vein of life
to imbue the words
with deeper shades of meaning

then on that day
perhaps
there could be a thing more divine

than the woman who opened her heart
while the day wept blood
as she idly sat and stole the scars
from a mans swaying thoughts of hope