I confess
to the ficuses
my passions.
The dissent in me
will return
without hesitation.
My sorrow is only for the world
& its infinite estrangements.
I only regret what made us
feel small or powerless. I confess
I will always trouble. Always
attune to the pleasures.
In place of ten Hail Marys I find the familiar
prayers of spring tonguing their way
out as my boots stomp through
the orchard, or the grid of a raucous city.
I confess I am lepidopterous & lupine, shape-shifting
meat. I am a flash of nothing. I confess I believe
in the question everywhere
challenging the father’s given.
I confess my virtue
rebellion. Disgrace,
the will to live
in me.