Photos of Jesus

Two years ago when the sun glanced off water 
a northern pike named Jesus didn’t care 

how dead he should have been arched 
into the sun before the camera could take 

a second picture. Spreading his fins he found 
an antidote believed in a monastery 

of camels and horses and pickup trucks
cinder block basements wedding day leisure suits 

bow ties balding braids trips to an old chest x-ray 
fishing with Buddhist prayer flags 

waving from New York city apartments.
The arch of his wife’s back recounts

withered red white blue basket balls 
offering scholarships planting bamboo

in the backseat of a convertible because.
The sommelier will not let her get away.

We go out the back door we go out the we go
weave woven whisk educate rot he’s gotten 

bigger from the travels of our host
circumnavigating ribs skin water eyes elbows

knees ankles veins arteries tendons. The lamp 
in the back of his room no longer hungers.

Nathaniel Vincent Mohatt | Mudlark No. 42 (2011)
Contents | With 5 Feet of Air