Divinity

abides in the center of my soul,

in that core where,

as Jehovah in the Sinai bush,

it burns,

but does not consume.

And when my obsolete, extraneous members

made of blood and bone and piss

disolve,

after that final kiss,

then,

like a kestrel,

cage left open,

tether cut,

it soars into a waiting sky,

(Heaven, if you must have one),

into the inviting embrace

of divine, benevolent grace,

where all is joy and still…

Until,

feathers, fluffed,

talons, razor sharp for her next kill,

ready,

for that moment when,

with a gentle nudge from the falconer,

she rockets from her perch

into that new, burning life.