Strangely cupped up in his bed
Curled with four books woven
in his fingers and
a Daniel’s bottle bedside;
Jack was just a nickname.

Oh he had the prophet, shot
by shot swallowed with the word: Allah,
the one word: Malachi, two words: Yahweh.

He mixed it up; divine cocktail
he read John backwards
with Abraham the chaser.

The light fell shut.
Tomorrow, he whispered to the black,
I’ll look for snakes
and take up fishing on the fly
With Daniel.