Joshua Garcia

Salvator Mundi

after da Vinci

At coffee, a would-be priest tells you the body
is God’s fingerprint in the world, a unique
impression of love pulsing in the grocery,
beating in the uncloaked chest at the pool,
a murmur in the arm raised to catch a cab.
He reads you a Prayer to the Sacred Heart,
& he, in his pink shirt, sfumatos with the heel
of a palm across the face. You imagine
his fingers in your mouth, your flesh twisted
in his hook. I like that you have a sweet tooth.
You tell a friend you want to hold your belief in God
down in the bath like one of those mothers
you read about in the news. The incarnation
is proof that the body matters. In painting,
a pentimento is the echo of an artist’s changed mind,
Italian—to repent—an object or a gesture altered,
replaced. In this way, a painting moves,
the shadow of a body’s I’m sorry. How much
money would it take for you to unthread a man?
Makes you think about the sanctity of life:
$450 million & Christ goes yachting with a Saudi prince,
the cosmos in his left hand & his right, erect,
two fingers held heavenward like the doctor’s
ready to tick inside you like a clock,
the sign of the cross, desiderio desideravi.
You stomach the blame for not knowing—
I wish you would be a little more gracious
& forgiving. Did something happen?
It’s like car problems: you don’t know shit.
A man on a dating app asks if you’re into kink.
You take mushrooms in the woods & ask
the clouds, or your elbow, Are there any reins
on this thing? Jesus reigns with a bit
in the mouth while pleasure bites away
at the pain, slowing the gentle draw of milk.
You practice surrender until there’s nothing left
to control. How many shades of pink come into focus
when you close your eyes? The Lamb’s open, glass &
void. Air empties from the pelt, its tight curls waving
in the bathwater, & smiling, too.