A SPRAY OF FEATHERS, BLACK

Angels know me by scent alone. Precise

is their reaping my confessions. I am stained.

God is stainless. A crescent moon pierces

the night. Stars: wounds grouped and sainted

as constellations. I counted my blows, dared

the bruises to implode like dying suns. Instead,

they hid behind skin to mask their dread.

Blood, my citizens, I speak as a creed-lit

failure, faith in me a venom, adder-

fire if the adder were God. I cried, Let

me feel You like Abraham poised to sever

Isaac, though I am filth, am derelict.

Look how a lilt of dust is built to serve,

sits on the lips like a song with no verse.