God has the whole world in His hands. He is too big to fail.
tossed into large barrels
our arms hold fast to a breathing darkness —
the future once carved into our bony cheeks fades.
our limbs shackled & packed tight, our eyes glimpse
the Sire of a rare February black moon:
this world is not our home.
the called of Abraham dig graves
& we jump in & consider it
less difficult to reckon with a velvet curse
than with the sunlight on our decaying bodies,
a stench in their God’s nostrils, a new world.
the wood & the vine charm us with
freedom: songs of rusted nails
& rugged crosses that split the earth
in two revealing pearls. where,
we ask, is our gift — this sun
that swallows and rebirths us
on the other side of paradise? we ask
too late. we ask in the space between
eternity & chaos. we will never ask
it of them again, our bodies suspended
in a salted water tomb. to their myths & rituals,
we give deference, though we believe we
will not die first nor forever. we were gods once.
now, we are strewn across their corn fields:
fertilizer & a caution. God alienated
from our weary tears. God alone —
carefree and ruinous — escaping the pale face of death.