Some nights the light relapses.
A bitter dogwood & the barking door.

when Jesus comes too soon
to croon his neck out at the audience,

he false-starts. Turns around.
Puts all behind him. Simply put,

Jesus decides against the resurrection.
Unknowingly, he leaves

a pillow book entombed.
The rest is Word some king rewrote

to leave us with the word of god.
Fact checked for centuries,

we're still here waiting on return.
Give it a rest, expensive fable.

Give it a rest. To rest, somebody leaves
their sentence struck-through on the dash.

Posthumous text when my acrylics click
the keyboard, free EMDR in morning light.

                                        I babble on

To end the story of its running mouth,
the brook waves back.

Some running header, the horizon sought
its document, I guess

that I'm still here

still placing words into your tired mouth.

Here hanging out in Babylon
with your long-bottled lip
of synonyms, the paper trails
that shuffle by my door,

A scheduled ghost.
A textless thread of close

Calls clinging to your teeth like dogwood blossoms.