I am still unlearning God’s body: the curve

of His palm printed on my hips, a glare of His

lips stapled on my forehead, & His marrow caught

in my ribcage. Drowning my pupils in afternoon

wine & praying to soil, I realize there is faith in dying;

faith in snatching my mother’s skull & holding it

against my own, waiting for my creation to snap me

like a tendon. Tonight, the rain trembles as I beg

for a flood. God pours me sheep’s blood instead,

so I drink to drown.