(Untitled)

lend it all to the girl

with slipknot knees

and which phase of dandelion

wakes today upon her sheets

all vertigo and fevers breaking

owe her the favor of the river i carry:

the bed formed of her own hands.

each stone arranged to snag

her quiet things no one knows

little trenches dug within to act

as muddy mouth of God in the earth

to speak permission to her joy

and forgiveness to her wrath.

take it all, my David, for you've arranged me

as He placed the stars —

a covenant of being seen

above it all, not touched

but known thoroughly.

the heaviness of her flesh

and the sword of her spirit —

a mirror of what we are to carry,

and what He carried for us, simultaneously

it is all mourning Glory,

vessels of oil crushed

under righteousness striving:

the way she pours of herself to show me:

the last of us is the best of us.

i will kneel to love until i am dry bone,

then come alive and again begin

in this place of becoming,

where we never stop becoming

to send it all home

to the reservoir in her chest.