11/11/2024 drafted, posted January 9, 2025
I have never been able
to pretend for long
that love is anywhere
unspeaking to me
most theologies a little
too contained
for me to hear
with anything other
than half an ear
the other three quarters
of my listening
devoted to river spirits
bone rattles
and bluebells
who every spring
uproot themselves
to pierce the groves
of my blood a forest
of singing spirits
and humming prophets
retrieved from baskets
once thought empty
from their exile
among the rushes