And then in marriage, each to teach,
the vow in silence wrought—
that King above who soon prefers the humble,
would spired king below depose.
But what of Mother, irate Mother, ire not abating,
should conjure storms of counter-vice
to break the good affront?
So soon the prince, with tatters rode
to meet his sibling evils—
palace first, from caverns locked with steam,
erected for the bitter armies
of the first destruction, to forthwith
charge the charging steeds of stone,
first sons of Mother’s soldiered ilk.
How filled with hate the rock-face clung,
staggering uncertain earth!
For each inspired stone was chiseled
with a calloused hand, never given mend.
For salves that cure infections now
were then unheard repairs; lest
prayers convened and altars spilled with blood,
there was no deity appeased.
And grace-filled God! No Mother Earth
unrighteous kneels as subject,
relinquishes so many proud possessions
to be fired by a son of Levi!
This kiln was hers, and fire was destruction’s
only brand; how sick the gentle God that kneels
for a parasite! So wounds she
bore and fit her face, from eye to eye,
from lobe to lip, and all the crags between.