See this
The cupped hands, the fat in the lamb
The fabled stories, the hook that stands
The shepherd's door, crossing a red dirt floor
Black Usk serpentining under
Table mountain, green with lambs
Licking at grass under peeling bells
That climbing call your dust to prayer
And to kneeling, on cold cushions
Under glass stained for sinners
Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani
Your fat in the lamb, your pink hands
Better to bury your rind in red earth
To cure your warts in whispering
Your sins to the dirt
