When I get that hand of Jesus in my teeth,
his blood cascading down my chin,
I believe but help my unbelief —
to my spirit preach
a gospel of bruised red grapes and mortared grain,
that hand of Jesus in my teeth,
that topaz blood beneath
my skin.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief,
press, push that old relief.
Reveal the wound empty. When
I get that hand of Jesus in my teeth
my tongue flicks the molar at its reach
and the wine washes me of sin,
I believe. Help my unbelief.
Feed my fast. Beggar a feast.
If my legs can’t take me in
let that hand of Jesus. In my teeth
I believe.
Help my unbelief.
