On the first day, a small hole
Tears open this universe, our universe.
Your blood, my blood, our blood
Pours forth as living ink,
Staining landscape with flowering
Blotches of crimson graffiti
Until the entire world is autographed.
I heal this festering mystery
With a disinfectant scrub of faith,
Suture the wound with
A thin thread of hope,
Rise above my own autonomy
And discern for myself
The true banks of the riverbed,
Fording the distance of simply being alive
Or being completely whole.
Copyright © 1998 Swagazine Six