slick with moss and missteps, sways side / to side from the first plop, scarce light / at surface, cove darkened with desire / and suffering samsara.
And when she gets it back: / will this be the body she wants? / The one smooth as mythology, before / it was flagged, pockmarked
I never said my body / was a cathedral.
How to re-yeast the daily / flatness of bread and wine?
lovely Lois / got mean, / / the kindness stuttered / right out of her, / a resentful tremolo
The airy headroom, where the egg flattens, / that's where you begin.
My teacher handed me the coloring book / and a pack of Crayola, said stay in the lines. / / I turned the pages, flimsy kid paper, / not strong enough to hold these pictures, / / these images outlined in thick black, / Christ’s hard journey to Golgotha.
Mud / / in abundance spatters every / coat. These low and lively clouds / fill the world with their scuttle
Maybe the kingdom of / heaven curves inward, like four front teeth, gnawing