Drunk Church

in stronger moments,

i believe in god

who goes down

to a bend in the river

and swims with angels

and drunks.

the thought beats threads

of cool pearl to my toes.

but i’m a weak man.

i press my ear

to the cadence

of our children laughing

out of the forgotten place,

where mystery and nonsense

fog together to remind me

that your fingers are color-heated comets,

and your lips

full-blooded petals,

an invitation

for bees to gather

what’s necessary

for unspoiled sweetness.