on jesus & lake swimming
someone puts my head gently underwater
tiny fishes recognize what i’m
going through & continue swimming
i hear choirs singing in supermarkets
& guitar from a stage in an empty theater
once i met jesus christ at a bus stop
he wore temporary tattoos & denim
& he kissed my hands & we didn’t
speak because we were both listeners
someone gives me air to breathe & it
tastes like trail in hot summer & gentle melancholy
i float on top of the water now
& i demand nothing just move
on the current of a dead language
later at a party where it was all
air & bodies in quilt pattern
i saw jesus again, sitting in a little armchair
reading leaves of grass
his hair was in two symmetrical braids
& as he turned the page i saw the dried blood
on the heels of his hands, i called
his name as i had read it in the dictionary
he looked up
i never was very good at eating, always
hungry or too full, sailing gaily past
boundaries and beautiful lines, looking
longingly at encyclopedia paragraphs
on bears & ants & vultures
all those creatures who know how to eat
on the lake i forget food is necessary
light appears to me almost blinding—
like god, eyeless, intended
prayer is like public transportation to me
as in naming is good for humanity but
it was always hard for me to feel human