Jonathon Egan
i took dissection once.
after
considering the scalpel in each hand,
i reverently approached the veil
of the temple of God
and gently pressed.
the skin
parted as skin does, layer
upon layer reflected – and
though i never appreciated
the soul,
bone saw in hand i confess
i found the seat of knowledge
a marvel even unblinking.
the maximal atlas of the man,
not pressed in six charts, authalic,
but splayed in all his glory.
Holy. Holy. Holy.
