The spirit is breathing
eternal internal
until the Word eternal
external matters
mixing us up to ourselves
for a spell
farming a slower
and alternate alchemy
to offer the ailing lead earth
a gold body
as fluent as rivers of wine
turned to water
where a stolen red penny
pays crossing price
but limits the magic
to son and to daughter
who will both
priest and sacrifice.
Steven Silent Wolf
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mass-4/
