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I baptized you before you were born. After, rubbed you clean.
I’ll cleanse all your wounds in season. You’ve forgotten
how to savor my holy. If you seek,
you’ll find these veins
run deep. See my face in the cliffs, taste my milk
in the sea. You’ve made a covenant with me—
never to be broken. Witness
my abundance, crystals crusting the pits. In season,
your wounds I’ll salve. When I say of the earth,
I mean all my children—animal, vegetal—reflected in
my multihued skin: black, pink, blue, grey, red.
So pass me from hand to hand
at the table. I’ll preserve your good
works in time. Plant pillars to mark
daughters I rapture. Each hurt I’ll scour, each wound
wash clean. Come judgement, every creature will crave
my salvation—all are mine
to weigh in the clear grain of my eye.