Carpenter means Jesus—his hands to splinters, a bench to sand
and rub smooth corners from the tree’s needle skin to build a boat.
I want to follow Christ, but where? To a threshold—a place to marry,
a pulpit where the preacher sweats, a precipice, the last land seen
as others wave, that boat sails out, good-bye? Tangle and strap
are words for my husband shaving, and also the sound of gardens.
Tangle is a thicket, the strap is pruning shears—he cuts for me a rose.
Whorl is a bud’s coil like my fingerprint; there’s wind on the sea.
I’ve decided to sail in my nightgown glowing like the snow tonight.
I want to follow the flume where it juliennes, let myself be narrowed
though it means going alone—my feet jumping stone to stone, water walk.