The Fish of Galilee
Many derived from the one, wonder replicated publicly
into proof. Look now upon the aqua bodies, the wooden table.
A fish is lifted, twitching, and also there is bread
famous for its seeds, empty bramble baskets. There is salt
in His beard, ingot of belief curling it, there are faces
waiting to be fed. Transported from the sea, silver-eyed,
they are handed to knived women. The slaughter of thousands
is ordinary, robotic. Currency trembles slightly in grease,
the meal is uneasy. Perfume of blood and pickling, the plates
lie pearly, blank: they have that quality.
