Читать книгу Trace - Eric Pankey - Страница 8

The Sacrifice

Gradually, the blood drains:

A thousand words never meant for scripture.

Still hunkered on the mountain ridge,

The moon: a saline ghost, a mouth

Opened around a hollow syllable.

When we move toward the sacrifice,

God lifts as a swarm — a body of flies —

As sated as God ever is.