Stuart Davis. Bright Apocalypse. Alms. Zeneszám

Take my chest and blow it open
make a bomb out of this heart
let what's unseen push my ribs apart
it's a start

You crack the shell to find the bird
You part the mouth to make the word
You shake the sky to feed the sea
now shake me

You pierce the skin to clear the wound
You cut the reed to sound the tune
You split the seed to bring the tree
now break me

Take my hand and pull it open
pry these fingers from my palm
let every fist I make be broken
into a place for alms

Stretch this thread into Your loom
pick this rose to scent Your room
boil these leaves to make Your tea
boil me

Mold the bones that form this face
break the dam that holds Your grace
burn a wick so light can be
burn me

Take me
where the sheep are catching wolves
where the parts are weaving wholes
where the drop contains the sea
where You are me