I Hold This Book To My Heart

Like boots on the ground, I hold this Book to my heart; a rifle to your soul, my world Against your own—a swallow Turned a Stuka, iron conscience, brittle

Bones—And would you Rather be left to a pack of the wolves? Teeth versus eyes that pierce, or stone? Must I Crucify the night, must I chastise with light? Must I

Baptize your kids, must I Nest them in fright? Does this ark Carry lives, or does it draft them for oars—They Are beasts in my home, and much less for the Lord.

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