There was no Jesus
in my version
only squeaks, shadow,
the divine doubt.
But how to tell
you that I was more
Jesus than anyone,
love embodied, as
close to doubling
my body as you can
be. Here in the peak
district, I throw my
voice and God throws
it back to me. He
doesn't need lists
and praying, feels
only through the hole
in his head. Praying
is when my holes
and his are somehow
aligned, like a box
found in the woods,
abandoned and clearly
yours. When you are all
at the campfires I will
be in the trees.
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