i dreamed last night of jesus.
he was a protester with top surgery
scars on his bare chest, with a mouth painted wedding ring gold, with a heart
so unmistakably bright you knew
he was the one who sang the stars
into burning. he stood at the front
lines. he had scabbed knuckles. i asked
him to kiss me right there in front
of the thunderstorm & he did, nice
& slow, like we had nothing but
forevers. in some life i believe we do.but who are we here when the reckoning
tries to stumble its way forward?
women with river shale knees,
men with pink lemonade shoulders,
people who smile at their lovers,
hold their children, construct bronze
monuments to those we lost
when the past reckonings arrived.
& look how our history shines
in the light anyway. & look how we
teach ourselves to dance & write
poetry & leave everywhere we go the rose
petal sheen of kindness.see that thunderstorm, its smile
full of bruise colored snake teeth?
you are of the holy wholly beautiful gay
blood. keep marching.