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. 
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.