It is not easy for me to appear here
Before you
The Word made Flesh.

I do not expect you to understand.
Not Yet,
You are still to young and virile.
And I wish you the best of health.

I do not want your sympathy for this wretched form.
It is useless to me
Save it for when you need it for yourself.
And remember how this is mercy too.

If you are more myth than you are sinew,
I am a creature more of air and spirit
Than of rock and salt.
(Perhaps there is some fire still left somewhere
Something left to burn.)

I gathered myself for this performance,
Meticulous 
Carrying these bones to you
To lay them scattered at your feet
For you to read me.