Disregard, if it distresses you, the churn
of bodies, slap of flesh
on tile. Ignore the bend
of knee, the twist of hip. Swaddle
your senses in believers’ fire:
you are the vessel
that will bear the vessel
of the vessel that will churn
out the vessel of our Lord. The fire
that shimmies inside your flesh
is merely the desire to swaddle
up our future vessel and bend
your arms around her. Around every bend
you’ll imagine fresh threats to your vessel,
causing you to pull her swaddle
tighter—a danger in itself. Your mind will churn
with each disaster that could befall her flesh,
every drop her drowning, every spark the fire
that could burn her alive. But fire
is necessary. If that distresses you, try to bend
your mind toward joy. Find it in the flesh
that led you here upon your path as vessel.
Surely you find comfort in the churn
of your fellows, the bodies that swaddle
you whole. Won’t you swaddle
them in turn with your limbs, return the fire
that burns in them for you, the churn
of hips, fingertips grazing the bend
of your knee, slipping from thigh to vessel,
gripping anointed flesh?
Not everyone is blessed with holy flesh.
Precious few have been chosen to swaddle
the vessel of the future vessel’s vessel
of our Lord. Don’t you want to feel the fire
of fellowship inside you, every bend
of your body enveloped in this glorious churn?
Where are you going, vessel? Who granted you your own flesh?
How dare you reject the churn of prophesy, a Lord to swaddle?
Who let you glimpse the fire of your soul, impossible to bend?