Sap and Scripture

I haven’t seen perfect hands
except wrapped around the hickory
in the yard. I spread feed
at the base and built
a sanctuary; I knelt
I prayed for perfect hands
to hold my world with
sacrificed flora before it could seed
I built an altar at the base of
our hickory
miles from anything but my
gasping heart and my
imperfect hands
found a merciful god
in its bleeding trunk.

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