There is a mercy in weeping
For the skies are niggard in their bounty.
The eye must be chained and eaten
For stealing the hoard of the gods.
There is a mercy in dancing
When the primeval surge
That pushed us from womb
Claims us again as prodigals.
There is a sweetness in bleeding
That the forthcoming red
Needs no leader nor map nor
Herald to trump its arrive.
There is a whisper in under
To feel a self with naught below:
The world reveals its laughter
Holding its homeless weight on you.
There is a yearning in the stone
To cleave its form
And be formed again.
To shout a psalter
As you are trampled
To dance legless and naked
Beside the a coffin of a relic
Of stone.
There is mercy in the silence
A pagan virtue naked.
