You were imprinted on my fingertips
written as dim memory
in line and skin
I kept your image at arms length
or balled it into a fist
A turning away
from the violence
As if there is no real death in ascending?
As a child
it is true
I was taught to expect some relationship
while being impressed into the feverish tribe
of Jesus watching
pale lipped men
with a tiny chaste taste
Who clothed me
in this rag tag skin of living words?
I fall pummeled and wading
in the waves of this unexpected birthing
Free now to love you simply as a man
A man of flesh and bread and wine
who once lived to turn the world.