---

Beating bright and in the eye, the isles of the body they turn. 

They are shaped by the flood, the onset of a blindness. 

Leeched, and wearied, unfolding somewhere else. 

It is gone and the body is stood blind. 

Back through, a dirge, a remedy and a fever. 

Borders sketched without song. 

A child was buried here. 

Here, my son was buried. 

And God danced around the coffin. 

and we danced with your God. 

and I watched my mothers body, raped by a prophet. 

I watched my son die.