Someone else’s blood runs rivers
through our veins, pumping fountains

of words we never knew in human voice,
overflowing our throats and tongues.

Overhead, strange lights – holy
or not, who can say – ignite,

and this unworldly heat
boils our bones like water

even as our bodies learn to dance
the fever away, to speak

prophesy till we sweat miracles
from our very pores, till we empty ourselves

of revelation to become vessels
newly fired and standing to cool, somehow

still unsure about whose
body we have broken.

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