i yearn devouring it that devours me whole
the heavens lower heavy-laden.
raven sprouts amass in its niches
and strings my stems with erstwhile voices.
God’s askew eyes slant from the welkin
judging how much of my argil
was furled in the hands of impiety.
beyond the narrow firth
Aion sculpts himself in sarsen.
man strikes it once
and it is already past.
the enthralled gods laugh
and tauten into saprophytes,
into filth.
nothing keeps its divinity.
the Gods leave a tinge.
and the tinge learns my name
as i lose it.