Gospel, According to This Very Moment
Time for me to start leaving the words out
Time for you to start putting them back in
All the names falling from you like arrows—
Eros rearranging in deserts of vast eternity
Every pore—seething with instant fire
I emerge from zero—human—and there you are—
A window—body—fleshly field
I could call you unbearable nearness of the bride
Room of tongues you would talk me into
Birdly flame tearing open the fabric of this
Rectangle of the neighbor’s yard growing—out of view
The trees keep being “the trees”—water—keeps going
Flies hover in neutral air-space
The sound, a cloth of anesthesia, saturating the day
Dimming in dusk’s blanket amnesia—
Sleeper, who is not an arrow in a god-bow?
