Who I am without Jesus
is a glass left precariously
at the edge of a countertop
and the slow abrasion on a thread
against the rough edge
of the world's surface
A moth indoors beating
against a sunny windowpane
A spinning top wobbling
on the tip of a pencil
balancing
balancing
balanci
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Oh, but who I am with Jesus?
is water and fire and teflon
and tree roots that twine so
deeply and surely that they
break through to the light
on the other side
