Vessel
A tiny ruby ball upon my skin
Reminds me of the flood I hold within
My frail and flailing, fleeting, fragile corps
Which someday will be invalid no more.
The living liquid wraps itself around
The wound, and starts in perfection to bind
My skin to skin; my body mends itself
In finely-spun linen from He who dwells
Outside of corporeal things—of pain and death,
Of pride, of want, orgasm, sin, or breath;
For when this vessel is devoid of blood
His own He’ll give, and bring me home for good.
(30 October 2000,
7 May 2004,
16 November 2008)