Oh, what wonder
Could hold the stars in his palm!
But a man,
Simply made flesh.

What fragile light
Cradling the curve of the earth,
Could shine from the window occluded?
To what depths of his soul
Would a single word speak?

Unmarred, Unmasked
He leaves fierce unguarded truths in his wake.
Uncovered,
Yet sanctified by none,
His gaze turns flesh and soul alike
To wine.

To speak,
Surely this god-child would rule
All the earth,
Would the last throes of autumn
Not chain him so cruelly.

Drunk on the infinite
Awe burning within,
The garrulous woman speaks,
Her voice all but lost
In the stupor of his own possibilities.

Inside he waits.
His time ripens,
Tumid
With all the paths of earth
And heaven.

Only gods should be this free.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Lanosian, in the year 182 MA.