Through the years, the cloud suckled the beast.
It fed on sky. It floated among the heavens.
Thick straps bind him first to Earth:
The sacrificial lamb bleating on the altar.
Understanding not the knife, but only the danger,
And more than the human soul can conquer in thoughts.
The sky was ever more distant for the beast.
Its wings began to falter as its world began to disagree.
The wings made no sense, suddenly,
And the beast fell, tumbled, and was suddenly below the knife.
It met in an instant, sky blurring with blood-soaked stone,
The beast, the lamb, the merging of spirit
Only whole, only possessing clarity for a moment.
Then, as danger joins the brew,
Out of turmoil spread silent wings
Painted wings, with black feathers,
But nevertheless did they carry it towards the stars.
9/24/2002