Destiny Without

It was the low hum of the earth.
Her majestic alibi.
The hard pressed nose of the blood hound, tracking
Forward towards the blood boiled sin
Of man.
Dressed in a white God left for the children of death
Her beauty bestowed and stripped clean of all lust.
I felt the fermentation of all things rotten within my violet
Pulse.
It fled from me that low hum.
On ashen wings with the eyes of wild horses.
Sought amongst bramble and wire haired servants of
Earth.
I laid into pursuit of that majesty.
Torn asunder was my footing as I reprised the captaincy
The command
The de facto steps of blaring haste.
For day and year I hushed her name to the lilies and dove.
Followed suit
Stained and rot upon the flesh of many town and field.
Soiled my ever passé name with another.
And another.
Brothel minded to the low gods of any being
Stuffed
Requited
Animated befell.
And in the year of our Time and Measure
I saw her image.
Graced upon stone and vessel.
Like waves dancing and singing the night watches ship,
I fancied her sweet nature. Flowered and fruited into all
Things of the Lord and kindness one without mother.
Vestiges. Vestiges.
Her being does haunt me.
The skin is of mine raised and screaming for thine own.
To move with such shame and slyness
Tracing the mountains and valleys of which anatomy.
Bespoke tailored. To match my every seam by the hand of
God.
Blessed and broken apart like the body of a Christ unseen.
She called forth my name of names
Where does the dove lie in wait for the rivers praise?
Where does the Angel lean into the nether?
By one account, my love, into all things being thine own.
Marred but beauty.
I precious you to be what the wings of unknown deities
Must be.
For I am with you.
And you with I.
Bodies of constellated mass and formulations.
I am the hum of that great earth.
Made of clay and cracked in a heat of Hell.
Doused with warn from the hand of her majesty.
I faltered.
Withered within her.
Set to mantle a love unknown to angels and priests.
A child. Like the air from the mouth of Ravens. A son.
Moved into the low quiet spaces.
Hushed and swaddled into the skin of mine.
And returned my bones to the Maker’s mound to be
Ground into the lovelies and sweet things to feed.
Abundance and radiated peace on earth for the mouth of
This poor thing.
Mine own heart.
Beating into the drumming low earth.