by Keith Melton

			1.
					
In pine tucks and oaken bluffs, past road signs of Jesus Saves--
We confess among the scrum.  
Remembering the last will be first
The humility of the poor
A notion of mention, dissension, grief; a nail to be given away.  

Without sin, briefly
Our promise made; exchanging the spike 
For a venial ounce of flesh
Pieces of rapture
From the cross, prayer to pearl at the fount of marble stones.

			2.

But O’ my Jesus, mysterious Savior, meek Lord of stars
From the glazing of gold  
And the ink pits of monasteries 
From the little fishes, the loaves, our fever treading lightly
Our demons somehow cast away.  

O’ my Jesus, here you wait in a vaulted arch
Five centuries after Florence
Ten after Ireland, before schools, hospitals, Cathedrals 
A journey through tipsy, irreverent flesh
From crucifix to candle, catharsis

Leaping to heart fires, the exegesis of resilience 
A pulse of civility, offering the intoxicant of love.
In the dew light of princess stones
Honey cuts of jewels
Parting the unseen vapors; frescos, figurines 

Forgiveness to scatter shards of bone and weep
Toil and sleep, the barter of generations 
Given in eons of death; kingdoms despoiled  
By a small Irish priest singing 
His Eucharist in tiny, peeking sandals.

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Keith Melton holds a Master’s in City Planning from Georgia Tech and a BA in Economics and International Studies from The American University. His work has appeared in Amethyst, Compass Rose, The Galway Review, Big City Lit, Confrontation, Kansas Quarterly, Mississippi Review, The Miscellany, Monterrey Poetry Review, Deep Overstock, and others.