The luck of it: an ordinary body
Soothed once
Under God. No night ends his
Care, how
He finishes a fixed field, how he
Hollows
A low tunnel. He released me
After. Why
Else would I pray like a woman Who’s ruined
A man’s ever-bitter extremity?
Men die,
But God’s soul rises out of its black
Noose, finds
Bared skin a landscape prepared
For use
Where worship makes for immortality,
And I am
The Lord’s opening, a woman
On earth
With pluck, with sting, with feathers
Left round my hide.