east texas
east jeezus
there is a fountain filled with blood
drawn from emmanuel's veins
are you washed in the blood?

going to hell was a free ride
going to heaven was through a narrow gate

but the pine trees whispered
and the dogwood stretched out her creamy white limbs
the marshy bracken throbbed with the conversation of frogs
and the high piccolo of the wood thrush
put paid to all the blood songs
with a different salvation

we were children of the words from the forest floor
full of light and feathered of wonder
not fear
and we knew it
so praying to bloody jeezus
didn't make much sense

hell is not knowing who we are
heaven is always there for the asking