I, of uncertain lineage,
labor in tidal times when nothing
-ness and urgency threaten
the flame. my sermons confuse, for
if I’m asked to speak of love and glory
my answer is better to be a bewildered donkey
than a camel born of a tree and if I ever walk again
on warmer sands maybe I’ll believe the divine
is ready to breach or at least be captured
by a drone: circling ‘neath the lone figure with interest
because otherwise I’m alone and God does nothing
more than pull on waves.