Poem: Psalm 2

Serve the LORD with fear
and rejoice with trembling.
Kiss his son…

Kiss the ground like you would the
grave of a swiftly taken lover―one who
perished scootering  on vacation

or snorkeling for gold doubloons. Like
prostrate  Luther wondering why the
thunderous  hammering god would smite

his scalp and beat on bulging eyes with
verocity, kiss the ground out of sheer fearful
exultation. Bow down to soil our King

Solomon, and look upon thousands of
concubines, the lilies of the field and the
elder trees. Hug your lips around the humus,

mouth moisture between your tongue and
biting teeth, lacerate roots of legumes with
your incisors. Kiss the ground because it is kingly.

Kiss the ground because it is our atomic lover.
Kiss the ground because it is our spiritual act of
worship. Kiss the ground, treasure chest of

corporeal essence. Kiss the god-forsaken
ground because it is our beloved sister death.