While clasping hands, asking God to give
His blessing, I turn white like a fish, my
Gills flashing red and silver as though they
Were drowning in this dim sanctuary. A fish still
Breathing, however, is still alive, and so my prayers echo
In the dark, their words slippery as scales,
The sanctuary an ocean where
Terrible creatures lurk to steal me away, and
Oxygen is growing scarce.
The only response I receive is
Frightening silence, and all over again like
Gills my lungs scream desperately and my tears slick
Fresh And Crisp along my face. I am filled with blood yet with none
That can heal the wounds or mend the
Cut of shame, no red brine can absolve my guilt,
So I lay in silence with my tears and my blood rushing
Badly in my ears and pretend it is the ocean.
I wrestle there for a while, alone with the roaring, then a
Thought ripples in my mind
Of wounded hands and a head hooked by a thorny crown,
The roaring of the crowd, so
Coarse, foaming with rage and anger
White-hot and ready to tear his
Flesh apart