This X
bland above her breast
is no holy cross
but the crest of sacrifice

Some sacred instinct
unfolds the frond
of sullen sound
Now the air

is anguish
Beauty is born
a wailing child
held high

above the crystal
bastion high
above the geometry of tendons
round which the blue veins twine

The eyes are shut
the brow
in the equation of joy and pain

Through expectant space
falls a tender flail
tense the bow
sings after its expended

fiery arrows
The laws of steel
are static now
the labile life of blood returns

the ulterior crane
swings into rest
its load of sifted sound
the body turns.
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