Essentially Samantha

Christ He crawled up from the dirt One mother no shirt and he kept all along the stars were his song And by each passing time was no reason nor rhyme he carefully concocted the sum that lingered like voodoo plum so you can scratch where you are wrong For you to be his song So he kept on with digging No sense in his winning the layers were peeled back Nothing was called to his task the rosehips and meadow sweet burned from the sky the stars were his eyes drawing breath from on high the acorns, the chestnuts scattered on the ground the squirrels, the magpies leaping all around the crunch of the fauna under an unsocked foot the whispers, the urgency riddled with muck for you to be stripped bare no sense in the notion to share it was his mother's due care he is not pyrite masquerading as gold his story will always and forever be told he joined in with humanity and coughed up dirt never tiring, never shaking, fully alert shaking the ground like a dream ...