Clinging to the belly of the sheep, I come home. Mother, my blood is the blood sum of you and my father. I have no choice. I need your rules. And now the tides come in and, like driftwood,

I drift, and like summits I rest and like the Eucharist I am blessed, and like the lost reflection I am lit from below by what appears to be light. I say my name and it ignites. I say my name and it tires like a rower on a stolen ship or lags like a haggard sail. I lost my veil, I lost my bed, I lost what I thought had been said to you to make you understand.