God, spoused, groans.
Fields quick with
ash-white mice,
doves stream in
darkness, pale flesh wound
stung with sand.
Above the desolate
thorns, forked wings
clasp upward-rushing air
till seared thread
pierces frail breast-
bone, frail skull.
Virgin’s proof eased
in cataract, to
the spasmed, repeated,
revealed, exclaimed name:
the Lord tupping
His young bride.