Bless the president;
Somewhere he heard on the TV
light would cure the plague.
Somehow the contagion
could be stopped by a simple spray,
an injection into the blood.
He got the mechanics wrong.
He mistook a surface for the soul.
We did not need to be injected
with light or a fluid
To learn we are radiant
and redeemed.
Within the waves from when time begun,
the waters of the earth,
the lamb’s costly blood, enough
to echo in the words of The Healer:
This was not meant to be magic,
but the ferociously gentle revelation,
that our salvation
is in our solidarity.
The Divine Latitude 