Serpens Dei, or
Prove Your Own Selves Whether Ye Be in the Faith

“You can feel the Lord’s power in the fuh-leh-yesssh,”
Preacher says, flesh hissing like fat meat
across the red coals of his lips. He swings
the rattler down and up like a censer, like a side-winding
halo over his head. Maybe so much power
is why God sent a baby to mark
His place—fleshy morsel
writhing with a less self-righteous kick.

Though the snake God sent witnessing to Eve
played its ends against the middle—left
all serpents suspect—Preacher finds a bliss
in wrestling an angel fallen
from broad bright places
into the strait gate of a viper: In faith
he wrings that power like a hand; he listens
for the tongues they still share. Yet Preacher knows
how comfort in the Lord can get hung up on a tooth.
Keeps the power well away from his heel.

Published in Big Scream