live stream jesus 

i don't tell anyone but i watch him
each night. my palm, a theater.
live stream jesus has a face
just like my father. sometimes he walks
on water for galaxies & coins. other nights
he rests his head in his hands & talks
about carpentry. the way wood splinters 
& nails join the walls of a future confessional.
some of the comments are mean. they call him
a wannabe & lots of words i don't want
to repeat. others are fair. they tell him 
he should do more if he is the son
of god. one night he is distraught. 
he turns his wine into water. he begs 
us on the other side, "tell me where
we are?" and "i do not even remember
what i said." i once listened to the bible.
it was strange. not a religious experience
but a funhouse one. the book reads to me
as a thrust toward an end. the last pages
like the unhemmed edges of a great skirt.
live stream jesus isn't even a top streamer.
his followers are mostly transient. some of them
haven't been to church in years 
& just want to remember why they stopped.
there are of course the worshippers 
who spam the comments with praying hands
& cross emojis. i picture them weeping 
in their sliver of the dark. i am sometimes
envious. what would it be like to trust a god?
others, like me, watch him like a mirror.
in church i was told that we were made
in god's image but i know 
from watching live stream jesus
that the reverse is true. instead he was made from
our image. a hunger for a less cosmic husbandry.
my father on his knees joining 
planks of wood. the wood of crosses & trees.
i one of only a few who almost always
lingers until the stream ends
in the purple dark where one day twists
towards the next.