Jesus Christ holds a Hope Diamond in each hand
and walks everywhere on Fabergé eggshells.

Stephen’s skull shines like King Tut’s sarcophagus
where crasser rocks came crashing down.

Michael Sattler’s tongue is tipped with diamond
and slices through stones at Binsdorf tower.

Wounds received on the way to New Jerusalem,
shining hot and wet, will never be erased
but shine forever, knit with filaments of gold.

We will be fired into outer darkness,
fanning like shot blown loose from shell,
screaming endlessly apart,
without form and void

or veins of glowing treasure,
stitched through shattered porcelain,
will pump everlasting form
into this dusty heap.

One way or another, in the fullness of time,
every fracture will be made complete.