The battle had trembled and waged in the day
And the sun was now setting upon its decay.
Defeated I knelt in the dust of the plain
As my brothers, surrounding me, laid with the slain.

The birds came to feast on the fruits of the field,
On man as the manna that heaven would yield,
The manna that fell with the fresh of the dew
But would spoil to worms as the night would renew.

And one came upon me, unique of the rest:
Though a dove in its form, it was black by its crest.
It sat there before me and looked at my state,
And cocked its small head as it pondered my fate.

Then addressing me clearly, as man would a man,
“The king has commanded the death of your clan,
The riddance of flesh so detesting to him,
The riddance of sin so alive in your limb.

“He has also decided that you would survive,
And though stripped of your flesh, he would keep you alive.
So here has he sent me, his breath and his wing,
To winnow the wheat as the wind of the king.”

I quivered beneath the decree of the throne.
“Oh, leave me not naked, ashamed and alone,
A soul with no body, adrift in the deep,
With no eyes to sleep and no tears to weep.

“Take not my fingers, my hands, or my chest,
The clothing of which in the womb I was dressed.
Polluted, I know, and in need to be thrown,
Yet leave me not naked, ashamed and alone.”

“Take heart, my dear one - you must see what I bring:
A clothing of skin as a gift from the king.
He has given his body to cover your shame,
And pints of his blood to enliven your frame.”

So I trembled and knelt in the dusk of the day
As the Carrion Dove ate away my array,
Removing the rot which had lived in my limb,
Restitching my skin as a symbol of him.