The Worship of Fish
I would invent a tribe that worships fish.
I imagine my tribe
in warm brown water,
knee deep, casting lines
slowly, with patience born
of long years spent in meditation
upon opaque waters,
and the silent dwellers therein.
I imagine, further, my tribe
gathered around a fire
at night, the sacrificial ichthys
arranged, full clothed with
head and tail,
spread out on a platter.
The elders open the book of meat
peeling back a page of skin. Each one
reaches in slowly, bare handed,
picking out a morsel (with fear)
in full knowledge that each piece
is infected with a parasite which
will make its way to the brain,
As did the hazel nut,
through the salmon,
infect the mind of Taliesin,
As did the word made flesh
made word then flesh again,
infect the mind of many
on the mount.
I imagine the fire burning low
with fleshless bones cast
on embers, open eyed,
head consumed by flames.
My tribe sleeps and dreams of holy things.