I feel God hovering over me
like I took Catholic communion;
I feel like a bearded man.
I dialed the number and invited myself.
And now, rolling under the clouds like a sunset
I don’t need to look to know
twilight on my tail.
Which way is up, which way is earth?
But there is a table and there is a man
passing salmon into my hands.
Take the cheek, he says, it’s the sweeter part.

I go
back to the drill.
I leap
off of the roof.
I spin
like a turbine vent powered by the wind.

And the Easter salmon is still on my fingers;
And my name is still in the books.