In hand time’s sands, closely examined
Found wanting in final accounting
Upon barred churchdoors hammering
Black Shuck against timbers flinging
Inside, weeping priests pray deliverance
Cradling pale monstrance, trailing snot
Eve unseen since Vikings came reaving.
Hiding in a roundtower’s highest floor
Up where eagles soar
Praying hands sore, clasping red beads
In his robes, by his hips
Eucharist clanking in a wooden pyx
Made to ferry leavened bread to the sick.
Alchemisland 
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