If you walked through the woods with me,
at first opportunity I’d do you the favor
of blistering your skin with tree sap,
scratching you with thorns,
making places for blood and mud to mix.
I’d jump on your back, push your face
into the loam of last year’s leaves,
stuff your nostrils with earth smell,
cake your tongue with earth taste,
mud your eyes closed with earth sight,
all for your own good.

When you remember where you come from,
that even you need water and air to live,
I’ll let you up again,
let you chase me,
pleading with me to buy your shares,
help you divest of your past life;
but I’ll be way ahead of you,
laughing like a nuthatch
all the way to the riverbank
because, like I was commanded,
I love you and not your sins.