I sign the cross with unmarked hands,

a sign to contradict myself:

opposing all my own demands,

a remedy against my health.

These hands, unmarred by easy ways,

are quick to grasp against the loss

of all the shades that will not stay

beneath the shadow of the cross.

O Dreaded Heart conscripting me,

Your love is wrapped in bloodied silk!

You call to shoulder willingly

the burden I would gladly bilk!

And so I trace each wound anew

— a prayer transfixing me to you.