Would that I had awe in me, more quake. Read as my shaken
faith; your earth tremble. The guttural communion that moves
mouths in meeting—soft sounds mulling
tugged up from where burgeoning sits
near the liver. Near gall. Somewhere dire
and queasy. When somehow you reach me
Behold, and be held
we are damned divine, palms ringing. We are enough
on the cusp of cease and suffice. All incantation is prayer, bears
repeating: your faith I hold sacred as my faithlessness.
This is another piece related to the “Tom & Jane” sequence, explained here.