See this
The cupped hands
The fat in the lamb
The fable, the stones,
The hook that stands
The shepherd's door
Cross the red dirt floor
The Black Usk
Snaking under

Table mountain
Green with
Lambs that lick
At grass drenched
In peeling bells
That climb and call
Your dust to prayer
Now kneel

Cold cushions
Under high glass
Stained for sinners

Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani

Your fat in the lamb
Your crimson hands
Better you bury
Your rind in red earth
To cure your warts
With a whisper
And send your sins
To the dirt