The opus of grief left her lungs and the lash blackened river wrote on her face what my lips failed to do. I am your pale table you threw aside like Jesus a leper of your loving who raised you like Lazarus and now you thread thorns polish silver platters and climb the Judas tree not scared to leap to death yet so fuckin scared in life. Woodwinds and thunder Seraph snake in Jew cloth I am flesh and wrath dust and splinter found in two blue eyes that grieved for me this winter.