A circling bird: ferocious eyes,
omniscient hunter—I cannot hide:
I am easy prey; paralysed and mute,
and Him—this soaring hawk—
His eyes always searching,
always hunting—pursuing.
When He stops the circling
He strikes fear into me,
attacks with innate violence.
I have no defence; I am weak and feeble,
and He is well aware.
He seizes me, wings me up;
we ride the thermals—
exhilarating apprehension...
and then He lets me go.
He chases me through the dead leaves,
and He pierces my frail skin,
flays the flesh right off me,
and devours me; slowly, meticulously.
I perish, nestled in desire,
knowing that at least He loves my death.