the Nazir goes along hummin', tying together history's sleepy Wake-up call of beginds-&-hens:

 6

  
 He walks the thread-thin bloodline
 like a lion on a tightrope, or a Templar
 in Jerusalem, or like a Nazir
 scored by whiplashed Narbonne

  
 Moorish twine (from Septimania
 or Babylon).  Walks on palm-leaves
 naked as a Galilean, grooved
 for service as a Benjaminite lyre-

  
 plucked brand – the word God flying
 from his ribcage like an undivided
 pigeon.  Yes, he bears it, laden
 with J-puns:  his mother (Hagia

  
 Sophia) grabs him by the hair and
 carries him off to Mount Moriah
 singing, dancing (Messiah
 between his lips, under

  
 his tongue) while the dread iron rings
 of Rome (all nine of them) congeal
 and Pilate's unrevealing,
 convenient surprise brings

  
 down the curtain of the veil again.
 Yea, upon this Rock I have unfolded
 your Mandylion – my body held
 in golden photoplasm for an icon

  
 of a raptored rhaptor's kingdom.
 So in present tense infinity
 that honey-hunter's blind tenderly
 scotched his mother's mordant home.

       
                            4.20.2000