Pulse 74<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As on a saint\u2019s day<\/p>\n
crowds gather in the square,<\/p>\n
so grief brims over in the heart.<\/p>\n
It collects<\/p>\n
as lightning charges the seams of clouds<\/p>\n
and bursts out.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Her absence is his crucifixion.<\/p>\n
He is burned through<\/p>\n
by the noiseless tears<\/p>\n
edging slowly down her pallid cheeks.<\/p>\n
She is his destiny.<\/p>\n
So where is his Astarte?<\/p>\n
She is the saint<\/p>\n
who conceives in pain<\/p>\n
and bears him grace.<\/p>\n
The air tightens around her.<\/p>\n
She shouts out, \u201cCome to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
And lo, from out of the crowds<\/p>\n
comes her Adonis.<\/p>\n
He breaks the myth.<\/p>\n
He slays the wild boar.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Pulse 74 As on a saint\u2019s day crowds gather in the square, so grief brims over in the heart. It collects as lightning charges the seams of clouds and bursts out. Her absence is his crucifixion. He is Continue reading Pulse 74<\/span>