Paschal

Easter was the old North Goddess of the dawn. She rises daily in the East And yearly in spring for the great Paschal candle of the sun. Her name lingers like a spot Of gravy in the figured vestment Of the language of the Britains. Her totem the randy bunny. Our very Thursdays and Wednesdays Are stained by syllables of thunder And Woden's frenzy. O my fellow-patriots loyal to this Our modern world of high heels, Vaccination, brain surgery— May they pass over us, the old Jovial raptors, Apollonian flayers, Embodiments. Egg-hunt, Crucifixion. Supper of encrypted Dishes: bitter, unrisen, a platter Compass of martyrdom, Ground-up apples and walnuts In sweet wine to embody mortar Of affliction, babies for bricks. Legible traces of the species That devises the angel of death Sailing over our doorpost Smeared with sacrifice.