Wikipedia Poem, No. 476

“Bless the fever in that night / in the sixth month of my life. / Bless the fever, for it gave me sight; / it swole my brain to fit God’s gift.” Tyehimba Jess

he she                

his   saints
                  maketh are
the grave that maketh       are their themself

you he she    
his letter saints her letter saints
    and to them
they themself 

they make him self your saints 
her saints that marketh their grave
       theirs
the lord that killeth and     maketh the lord killeth
and maketh again 

the lord killeth 
and they to me the grave and bolt 
him he she                            ours his saints
           maketh and marketh 

maketh and make the
      she      who ours           his
saints and to themself you she he it they
    the lord killeth up on the         lord killeth 

maketh up she
                  he they their we us our saints 
and among them