Incarnate | poem
Non-believer, your lashes fashion mystery—stories of thorny eyes, silk wine, blood spraying stone. Non-believer, you are the anchor in God’s ruby sea. Your arms are pillars, your mouth a cross, your skin scripture. Non-believer, you bleed Truth. The Gospel’s in your hips and fists, under chewed nails, traced fingerprints. You are the incarnate Unknown—something you hate so much—what I love most.