Hallaj

Hallaj said what he said and went to the origin  through the hole in the scaffold.

I cut a cap’s worth of cloth from his robe, 
 and it swamped over me head to foot.

Years ago I broke a branch of roses
 from the top of his wall. A thorn from that
 is still in my palm, working deeper.

From Hallaj, I learned to hunt lions, 
but I became something hungrier than a lion.

I was a frisky colt. He broke me 
with a quiet hand on the side of my head.

A person comes to him naked. It’s cold.
 There’s a fur coat floating in the river.

“Jump in and get it,” he says. 
 You dive in. You reach for the coat.
 It reaches for you.

It’s a live bear that has fallen in upstream, 
drifting with the current.

“How long does it take!” Hallaj yells from the bank.
 “Don’t wait,” you answer. “This coat
 has decided to wear me home!”

A little part of a story, a hint. 
Do you need long sermons on Hallaj!