They proclaimed she
was the “all-or-nothing” breed,
a single lark thriving amongst the wrens.

                              The sweetest sacrifice

   Her eyes were as lanterns, luminous and protruding,
    as if she had ingested the heavens and now
     they sought a means to escape.

                              For the good of the many

      The slow slant of her lips
       was textured and fine,
        a simpering halt in her meadow of face.

                              Do not fear, little one

         The disciples sang at her altars and allow
          her put-upon face to blur through the lines,
           streaking under the curls of their incense.

                              You will be blessed

            Skin faintly blue shines silky as lies,
             still like the cloak wrapped tight around her soul.
              A knife presses close, slight

                              You are the savior

               and silver as the pulse of her heart.
                Eyes flicker wide; her
                 last breath slides through.

                                One life paid for all

She is the world,
they whisper,
hushed as the tears of her blood cry down their arms.