A raven’s shadow, large as a red tailed hawk
follows me on the road to the White Salmon.
There is no meaning in this
unless I choose it.
I choose light and dark moving together
under a canopy of maples
as I walk along God’s forearm into the palm
of his hand.
I come to you afraid of death,
as an epileptic fears swallowing his tongue.
Come with faith that I know nothing.
A drunk man, naked and sweating in your sheets,
I come doubting my own existence.
White faced and sober, mouth spitting out ashes
I come to touch the hem of your garment.