i’m the kind of bird
who heard
that god is the word
and thought
wow what mystery
then stumbled over to prayer
and thought
well my life talks back
so it’s probably just like that
then i found grandpa’s scripture
and that’s when i fell
and spilled my guts
the looking
backwards in time
eyes aching, crossing death
how do you do that
without crumbling on the inside
maybe that’s the point
holding onto hope as truth known on insides
in the face of the knots of precedent
left behind by another version of you
for god to know life
they must choose to live in you
against the odds of love-born trials
for the gut holds these truths
before faith steeled like holy wars
before jesus felt his blood flow
before laozi had a name
before the word there was this
disorienting as it is
truth and love
in the way that it is
in the way that it is
and everybody knows
in a way it is true
the bird is the word
there, i said it
so who are you
