Gonna move from a slave bone

trickled down over

sun marbled skin.

Going to cock his head,

stare,

slice a question

through a breastbone.

Where hope avenges,
there jukes a sound-
half a breath-
two millimeters too light.

 Here, Job hems curtains
that hang a scent-
of magnolias weeping
in a pile of gold.

Here, Moses eyes men
that look a diamond
being cut to inches
too small to sale.

Here, Noah dons flippers
to feel the sea salt
crack through pine
yet hold and hold.

Where hope avenges
there jukes a sound
half a breath-
two millimeters too night.

If they knew, they would’ve slid -

two coins across the brow,

four bows atop a hood.

If they knew, they would’ve swept you -

clipped your eyes to half moons,

perched that heart on a windowsill.

You have been reduced

to brilliance,

grey touching white

with an emptiness

like hugs

on a grave.

In your eyes,

I see

you may already understand

that this pushing you up

above himself

comes life-long.

Crowns of cloth

never keep majesty

out of the eye.

As a little girl,

baby dolls in hand,

I wonder how often

you positioned their necks

at this angle.

gone are the middling -

the mire -

mirrors,

here now,

a river

a wave,

a goddam tide. 

Now, they know -

do they shimmer -

or do their lids

lay sins again.

If they knew, they would’ve knelt -

six hammers to a sunset,

three wonders to a reach.

If they knew, they would’ve stolen you -

wrapped your fingers in gauze -

your tongue in glass.

My love,

you are not

only

in flesh

and bone.

Once,

in horns,

you knelt crooked,

and a croon

became the softest bandage

since whiskey.

In a sweat jambalaya

of white cotton

kissing wet jade,

you aren’t a nigger anymore.

You’re holy.

Knees bent,

shoes dust,

you’re funny.

Arm raised,

mouth wide,

you’re human.

Lord,

if only this trumpet

could blow to Bethlehem.