jesus, is this your womb

I didn't think you'd actually listen,

didn't think you would lower your wrist into my river:


the skirmish of minnows spreading a fire of dust underwater,

where you grab my fish

I've called you my mother,

my honorary, my gaping at the trees, my gumption, my clack,


sorry.

when I get going I throw all the bracken on the bushes,

light the holy with my heaven, falter, crack.