Seared Eyes

Speak hoarsely invisible King

Pour molten gold down my throat

That I may speak as you

Burn me alive to make me

A torch of illumination

Upon the sterile gardens

With seared eyes, I catch vision

In the joints of branches—

Legate of false trances

With charred hands of 66 legions

I waft the guerdon of odors

That have died forever

Rejoice! There is no earthly leaven!