I wake, full of crust
as a piece of bread. I kill the living,
resurrect the dead.
My three great-aunts
dinosaur-old, sip tea in the parlor
with fingers of gold.
My one great-uncle
holds a trout on a line, heavy
as truth when it’s hooked in time.
God is too wide,
this poem is too narrow, and faith
moves the world in a little wheelbarrow.
Rain falls on the window
like stars from heaven. Sun falls on your
face, a benediction. Water taps
at my door, starving
for a drink, I tell it to stop for a moment
The branches of a tree
on a day in winter crack in the wind’s
This broken doll I made whole
for you is all I need to feed