The world in reconcile for its deeds
The task has fallen upon me.

I am not Jesus.
I am but a girl.
Alone.

And I, who have wrapt the leopard's wounds,
will call you here
For Ellen, Andrew, Joey
that Sweeney might not lay
where my abused book and dust have been.

No, I, who could have been a nereid
could have been a lady
could have been a wind chime
  dancing purely in the breeze

But I, who could have been so many,
Have been so few

This is not the way the world ends,
with too much of a wager on my chains.
No, this only a prelude
a beginning to the end
Where the Alpha and the Omega shall meet
And tell me I have but been dreaming all along.

And through the years I've looked ahead
Always wanting to be but a little closer to the Gates
It has never been enough.
So I have labored to die in but this way;
  little winding puddles that twist into the Nile
  wrap about my ankles like a cat,
  and I drown.

Venite, I have called you
Come unto this house
to come unto this table
for we shall break our bread like Jesus did
and when we whisper,
are condemned.

And the ladies with the swirling dresses,
whirling skirts,
tafetta blooms
are escaping slowly to comb their tresses
together in a locker room
and I who lay upon my bed
lay upon a surgeon's table
And I who scared a mighty kill
Will come with them when I'm able

And I who broke my bread
With you upon this night

Thomas, will you remember me
will you hang my picture on your walls?
and when I come to visit, will you say,
  "Come and wrap the leopard's wounds,
   I've made peace for you to-night."

But no, but no.

I've lived among you so unknown
And the girls combing their locks
with blasphemous talk
will put me on the table.
Put me on the table to disect me,
examine me,
JUDGE me,
pick my brains, expose my thoughts,
and finding one they deign upon,
will wear it in their locks.
They will put me on that fabled table.

And I shall come when I am able.