±
We enter bone in measured line,
three tempers fused: wood, iron, flesh;
the void inclines to redesign
Its motion through our driven mesh.
±
Through sinew’s gate we carve our path
pure iron thought through mortal thread.
The timber drinks the aftermath,
renouncing drought in dry root’s stead
±
We cross the joint’s red corridor,
a triad struck in grain and bone;
his stillness hardens into ore,
a burden forged in undertone.
±
We bear the pull of failing breath,
the cosmos pressed against the beam;
our edges trace the brink of death,
the starless world beneath the seam.
±
The ribs resound in hollow fire,
a cavern ringing under weight;
we anchor him to waning ire,
to iron’s cold, to love’s mandate.
±
We keep his shape against the void
a triple bond through iron’s claim;
no force recalls what’s been employed,
no vow retracts what seals the frame.
±
And when the tide begins to thin,
we feel the universe invert;
a quiet wound unspooling in
the fulcrum where all worlds desert.
±
Then light, through splinter, bone, and rung,
a fissure breaking iron’s stance;
we loosen from the beam we’ve clung,
released by uncreated chance.
±
The beam exhales its sacrifice,
our triad loosened, weight withdrawn;
what falls becomes a rising twice,
the pierced becomes the harkened dawn.
±
We drop where earth receives the blood;
Where passion cools but not the plan.
Opened by iron, split by wood
from rupture rises more than man
±
Thorn and Benediction 
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