Ichthus

At Thanksgiving time
When I needed it, I guess,
There used to shine for me
A miraculous sign of sorts
Over my second-hand table
Through the kitchen window

This fish, an Ithaca, I think
Told me in no words
That I would have enough,
That there would be provision,
And most privately, that I
Would no longer need to steal

The fish projected all this
Through the dirty glass
I rubbed with the end
Of my sleeve to be sure
I was not seeing things
Like a Jesus fish in the air

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