Dear Terrance,

I would like to be too much for this.
I’m not yet warm enough to trip over myself
and so was wondering if you could give me

a spoon from the drawer. No,
not a fork; He might cock an eye-
brow sunshining down a rabbit hole
with so many red eyes blinking

I could look down one and see all others.
I know- to them, this face would be God’s
/ or an aardvark’s and they needn’t be
afraid of either but they could be. Terrance,

I wonder if sin collects in sediments.
I would like to share without sharing and be
an attentive memory of the sky behind me.
I wonder if you ever learned to punch a tree
so lightly it closed its eyes

or stared down the barrel of a gun
and wished you were the bullet
just so you could

that stray thought but had to write this instead.
I figure
if I dig as fast as I pray, I can make it in time to see Him.

If I do arrive, I don’t think I will have to choose the shape of dark
around my silhouette.
I wonder if I will be able to tell.

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