when God cradled
my body with care, and,
making sure that all my fingers
and toes were accounted for,
exhaled life into:
A.) the absence of breath,
B.) a paper wingbox filled with formless prayers,
C.) an accordion-boned empty house,
D.) a desperate cathedral made for waiting on the Lord;
when he blew that perfect breath into this unworthy form,
did he know just how hard his nimbused knee pressed into the small of my back?
was it his effervescent kiss
that mangled my tiny body so,
or was it the crushing weight of his love?