pocket infinities


sputtering lights of jesus

poke into sky burnt

orange, then black. precisely

11 pm every night

I lose sight

of them. a space

ship watches

until dawn. this makes

me feel

observed, attended, known, at least

from a distance, which is better

than jesus

who lives

more in my mind

than anywhere. the space

ship hangs

over kabala

mountain, more like hill

named mountain. in the morning

a freezing fog, and jesus

again. no one

believes me, although

if they did, I would

not know what

to do. I want to feel

a touch so heavy

it presses like force, one ray

of sun slicing through leaves

in my head.

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