by Christian Stanzione
was boiled down to his bones.
His flesh melted off, floating
away from his great frame.
The fat from his stomach,
and the soft muscle
of his penis
disintegrated and was rendered
into feast for local birds.
Fish leapt in the stream beside
the tree where they laid his hide.
The old scribes made note of the way
the air was perfumed –
how heaven had laid on the earth
in an arrangement of smells
akin to baby’s scalp
transmogrifying into
tulip-blooms and the earth
held none of the pain of time,
but rather a reminder that the infinite
moves through the finite
like an eye watching a ship move into the sea.
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Christian Stanzione is an student at the Boston College School of Theology and Ministry.
Image: Christian Stanzione
Psaltery & Lyre 