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.