When he is brought before them under a suspicion
He still is made fully of light
Aeons of his hairs are arranged
Into a curl of innocence.
After the first question his cheeks swell with blood
The blood is transferred by the tools and the interrogation
With an iron, with a reed, with an open fire
The limits of his body are defined.
A blow to his back fixes his spine
Between a puddle and a cloud
After a couple of nights the opus is finished
The leathery throat of an angel is full of a sticky acceptance
How beautiful is the moment when he falls on his knees
Incorporated into the guilt, filled with the contents
A tongue oscillating between his broken teeth and a confession
They hang him head down.
From angel’s hair
Drip drops of vax,
Create on the floor
A simple prophecy.