when the snake
belly-up in
the hungry wide
river says go
build a home,
you go
and the house
that you build
is the egg of a
bird and the
gift of a
shiver in snow
and the flies
and the wide
eyes stick to
you, kick you
below and
you know then,
you know
that faith
is a window
that half of
you looks
through
while half
of you
just
overflows