I am wholly,
drowned in skepticism
at the religion I have nursed.
Bloodline filtered by faith
oceans drowning in fish,
they rebel against evolution —
never dare question rays of light,
what lies beyond seashores,
a galaxy spears stab free of testimony.

I became a man in suburbs of Dallas —
Eve crawled through whispers across earlobes,
loosened my buckle on restraint,
she planted seeds that led me to the cross,
between reason and faith,
the fruit I bore seems sweet to those blessed with filtered water,
far from the Atlantic.

I grieve at my mother’s sudden loneliness,
my father’s eyelids hang forever heavy,
my mother’s dulled knees through decades of prayer —
accustomed to the weight.
An alarming calm, tears flow and reign over us.
Breath,
fear where he is going,
what lies beyond the ocean,
galaxies unconverted,
free of testimony,
I am Holy.