Stop, please stop that thud, that thud,
I hear your thirst like sand for blood--
O I will bring you water, water,
only beat your breast no longer!
Because I see your prayer becoming
consumptive by its own drumming,
a labyrinth that bears no unthreading.
God, I saw a black bruise spreading
deep within that dreadful cadence--
and his prayer was patience, patience.
“Tell me, please, what I can do
to break you from that death tattoo,”
but all he did was beat and nod
I lost him to an Awful God.