“No king has ever calmed these waters. No prophet
leaves trouble behind. This world is way-station collapse.
“The higher You rise, small One, the greater
will be your fall, because the lost are who You need,
and they will not follow willingly, nor for long.
“This world spells Your name now, too. It is my blood
that moves in you, the blood of all the unworthy.
You come for those who’ve traded a goodness
they can no longer claim for a guilt that cannot salve.”
And then, more, what would happen—does for her:
“Oh, crushing of bone, the road You become!
“Whatever is coming will take us all.
“All these people: the great, noble; it will ruin them,
me—because it will take You first. Nothing will ever
be the same, in the shallows, nor in the deeps, least of all
You, my issue, my increase.
“Whatever happens, it will break You, like firewood,
popping in the hearth, even as You allow it, watch.
“I must come along.”
Whatever happens, it will break You, like firewood,/ popping in the hearth, even as You allow it, watch.