When he hits share screen, I know
he’s going to show me my brain, my own
starred-forest Zoom Room. I know it storms in there
because I’ve seen my dreams and the trees
are slick with snakes and wet electric fruit.
He’ll make a nickel-sized hole, and now the coins
spill bright through the vessels as he speaks.
My brain’s a casino: the House wants winning.
I trust him, for no reason but drenched need.
Brain has rain inside it. A forest again. Questions
hiss and branch through my arterial dark. Won’t
prayer nerve me on through loop and tangle? O glitter-God,
pixelated by this mind’s eye but still so good
at keeping skies online, help me mute the chat. Brain
stems from the root that meant a broken thing.
My breath breaks across the scan’s strange waves
and psalms the light. I am giving my face away and if
I get it back, I vow to blow a squall of my wholemost air
to you, Lord, and all the fearful leaves: my most holy-
charged and far, galactic kiss.