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The apostle in the boat

No, Matthew’s gospel doesn’t mention me
when I was in that boat, wrestling that sail.
But someone had to do it—I could see
the waves were high, the wind a roaring gale.

The others wouldn’t help, saying they were shocked,
spotting our reckless rabbi suddenly
walking on water, then our stubborn ox—
yeah, Peter—trying to walk like he was He.

Mulberries

               Flies swarm
over mulberries
               mashed on the road,
purple pulp fermenting
               in the heat beneath the tree’s
heavy shadow.
               Rorschach blots.