How to Build an Altar
Leave it room
to breathe. Tender
the tinder bed, snap twigs
to kindling, strike awake the wick.
Bracken, bramble, imagine the wood
with a fire in its heart. Animals
flee with their mouths open—
a son, bound as eggshell
binds a yolk whole and golden,
unafraid. A father may slake
his knife, but a son can still live
if he imagines the broken branches
whole again, lets the timbers
turn back into trees.
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