It helps to look at the branches of trees
when you tire of all the actors who have played Jesus
and all the paintings, all the beards and ribcages
and knees. Look at the sky. The clouds in the sky.
But these, too, are moments. Are temporary.
Everyone has a body. The students come up
one-by-one, whispering what they want us
to pray for, and we put our hands on their heads
and call the Spirit down. Pray for my anger.
Pray for my grief. Pray for my loneliness,
one young woman asks. She has been crying,
and she leans in so close I can feel
the warmth of her tears. A wisp of her hair.