In the quiet murmur of hushed tones
And blasphemous whispers
I burn a torch over a simple question

For many suns and moons, I have wailed to the stars
My bloodied will, brandishing my broken body
The rhythm of my feet kissing the burning sand

For inside my chest, a song beats
Bereft of love, and the banality of wrath - no,
But of obedience, and blind faith,
The crucifixion made living

Carved into my back, a gruesome tapestry.

The slave driver orders me forward.
“Elohim?” I shout to the heavens, on my knees.