Sea (for STC)

A bird between
the Lord and I,
Ponderous and muscled,
between us,
boding goodness.

No bird between
the Lord and I,
neck broken,
only a picker
with sharpened blade.

No sharpness to
the blade, blunted
by my desires,

Life in
the writhing.

No writhing to
my existence,
wrought by my
own permission,

there is penance and
understanding for
all but me.

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