Nativity

by Seph Hamilton


I laid my hands on the back of the truth
As it passed like some tempered beast,
Bristling coarse under my palms, grafted
To its densely-charged spine, ribs tight,
Each hot-blooded lungful saged and singed.

Satiated, the creature rose on two feet,
Inheriting my image as a child would.
Inside, I align my eyes to its sockets,
Fold my nerves into its ample might.
Tendon and gristle, I take my first steps.

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