From a satellite the Sea of Galileelooks like my heart, but dark. Jesuswalked beside it one day. He said,“come I will return the bloodto the empty space.” They say darkmatter makes up most of this place,which neither emits, nor absorbs light.From this height the green moss aroundthe sea masks the fact of mostly desert.The mountains to the east must bemy lungs. I breathe in the nothing that isactually everything. Moss from the sea,full of fish and leaves and other debrismight make its way to me on the jet streamanchor itself in my esophagus. Jesus told meto fish in this sea. Cast my net, take upmy boat, because I might bring someoneup out of the water. Someone to fill my heartwith fish and sand. Blood and bark.
Put the words close enough.Closer than that, even closerso that one breathwill make the other turnand the other turn and sayand the wind break this leaffrom its stem, not the otherand make a cup for the dewin the shade where the sunwon't dry itwhere the bird stops to drinkas your son waits, pointing"birdie, birdie" andyou snap the picture, the onewhere his smile is likethe first time anyone ever smiledand its place in the frame on your deskmakes you wonder whyyou don't write poems about this.
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