Maker's Mark

The sun is in the firmament,

yellow on blue, the eye of God

looks down on his creation:

it is meet and moot that he does so.

This God is our witness,

but he swears on no book,

listens for no bell

and lights no candles

for the dead.

The light is in the fundament,

angels on wings, the slaves of God

make fulgent illumination:

they are yet bright in human darkness.

This place is our illness,

whilst we sweat in our chains,

struggle with our bonds

and strain the fetters

until death.