Benediction

Here's the truth: My faith remainstepid. Lukewarm as summer rain.Spew-worthy. A compass in fragments, I savedpieces: base plate, arrow, needle.Reassembly is beyond me. Millennia ago,I stood on a street corner & thumpedmy brick of scripture. Made my moutha spout. megaphone. In forest nowthere are thousand pathswith no signs. Where boat launch? islandscleaving mist? feet fallled by whim, tug. tryanyway. What can't nameI name new, siftold silt for any speckthat glitters. shinesin palm: bird call, blue eggshell.A breast, handcup milk. Godhas lived stone househewn men's handsfor so long. seekentrance to earthen chambers, moundsthat swallow solstice. There see them,Elohim, female male, but chooseher: Mother, hemof her robe garmentI'd like touch: facemy mother's face, eyesmy daughters’ eyes. want godsoft dough, yeasty, caught wooden bowlat edge dawn's field, risingon stove. But, oh—if there's anythingI can expressly say know, it's this: bear witnessto penchant bitter soil,barren figs. Tending goats, make houseof doubt. build sanctuariesof sand, altars unknowing,cover them with thoughts’intricate lace, upon which place nest,a cradle. And yet, confess believethis world be healed, its bleedingstaunched, unlesswe listento midwives who ageshave been coaxing forthfrom their own minds our hiddenMother. So let'sready salves, unguents, salt muslin herurgent redelivery, what could bethis earth-redeeming,salvific Mother-work.You, Dear Reader, midwife.Who am say? Maybeyou already aremassaging perineum sunflower oil,hands bracing crown.