Covenants have been made,
fingers casting shadows explain.
Leaning on lines of testimony,
they lie in wait for attention.
Portals shaped and raised,
to subdivide timelessness.
Franchised by innuendo and script,
Promises made of sovereign prayer.
Patina masking as grace,
gold leafed above the horizon.
To anchor the sky and moon,
mounted on cakes of blood and teeth..
Aged cadence insinuating authority,
parceling knowledge and harvest.
Feeding desires of their lost,
a plate of bones and salt.

© 2005 - Mark Hebard