Blood flows over me, filling and spilling over the pits and lumps in my face.
Appeased, I relish the offering – life gives itself to me, and I drink thirstily;
This is beauty to me – I cannot have enough of it –
Red and coagulating, it clings to and covers the ugliness of myself.
I have never wept for any creature that is sacrificed on me –
Perhaps because each one feared me and my unending lust for the price of innocence.
Yet, you came untrembling, gentle, and lay your life over me.
I could not move in that moment, and was as a stone – fear me, fear me!
I am afraid; fear me!
Water runs down my face – it is your tears, and mine – why do I cry?
No sooner than when that life washed over me was I no longer a ball of blackened blood –
My visage has returned to one grey and undulating, like any of earth’s stones, and I am purified.
I don’t sit in a temple filled with cloying blackness or the smell of perfumed death –
Instead, I am in a forest, and it is morning;
Dew kisses my face, the birds are singing, and light shines through the new leaves.
I am soft for the moss that grows on me, and a bird plays in the places where water pools –
Life has grown on me, and I do not need more.