…‚ÄČand Trembling

After Kierkegaard

 

He draws the blood out of my limbs

like handkerchiefs pulled from a sleeve.

He presses the tint out of my skin.

I watch the pigment slowly leave

 

Like handkerchiefs pulled from a sleeve,

Deep cries are knotted in my throat.

I watch the pigment slowly leave,

a distant song, a fading note.

 

Deep cries are knotted in my throat

In one raised hand, he holds the knife.

A distant song, a fading note

In darkness there will be no light.

 

In one raised hand, he holds the knife.

There is no bush; I am the ram.

In darkness there will be no light:

Bound to this cold marble slab.

 

There is no bush; I am the ram.

He presses the tint out of my skin

Bound to this cold marble slab

He draws the blood out of my limbs.