Illuminated

On my knees I beg forgiveness for my greed—
and for starving myself.
By your eyes I see you love this priest,
follow his lyrical fingers in praise of
a small white host he points here,
there.

I—on the other hand—directly deal
with that twisted god over his head.
That god and I promise
never to go hungry again. We promise
to eat lilies and drink summer storms,
feed all evening on maize races and amaranth,
fast only in winter, a diet of light.

Abruptly, the church
shuffles to its feet, illuminated. You reach aloft
for that elevated thin-edged redemption.
I reach, mi amada, for you.