Jesus looks so ruby red, dead
and your purring
wracks some embryo to

life, gave it a foreign ring –
hand-tested gold or
diamond surfaced from oceans:

or not, no.
No, it is just a mirror
and you are what makes it

look so beautiful, breathing
sea-salt and gasoline –
one perfect drop found a well

and down, down, down
it fell. I caught ants, I smashed
in their hissing heads.

Yes, yes, so red.
God would be proud of the
mystery you and I have kept.

We drag him along like a light,
lantern bleaching flame,
but as soon as the sun hits,

he, too, drops into a haze –
and lands cross-legged, think?
There is a jeweler up there

that makes his ankles shine,
they are bolder than the moon
cousin of his best side,

as you are mine. Mine,
some sort of wordly delight –
bravery, diamond, and be alive.