Isaiah 3:24
After the war, after they have torn the sinews
from the necks of sheep
in the countryside, the wolves
will come down from their forest
into the city, to eat the raw meat,
to lap blood from bone-bowls,
their paws against the roads
like the beat of a transplanted heart.
They will compass about me
where I lie. They will curiously graze
their teeth against my cheek
and lick the scrape on my hand
and I will not be afraid of them
because my blood is bitter
and my marrow rancid
and my skin is a linen of bees
and my tongue is split
into two songs, two branches
that grow soured figs
up through the charred
rubble of my throat. And I will sing
one into your mouth
if it would comfort you,
and I will sing the other
to comfort them,
though they will only hear me howling.