My god is in the trees,

Leaping from branch to branch

In hopes of finding his son before the noose

Fold its hands in silent prayer around his neck.

As if to ask for confession of sin

With promise of cleansing.

Jumping straight into walking on water,

Skipping stones,

Waiting for the blameless in the equation

To throw first.

Their feet were anchors

And their hearts were sinking ships.

I told them to come on dry land

And trade their anchors for roots

Where I can plant a seed for maple lullabies,

Every word sticky sweet

And crawling with cavities.