I Opened My Vein To Viridian Shadows

~ a poem of contentious communion ~

Image by Analiseart on Pixabay

Well, God,

we part ways

yet again. You head back

towards a black cube

— though I have to say, in the midst of a desert

I like the matte obsidian of it —

and I, turning right, then left

past last summer’s bright swimming pool,

down a steep dogwood-lined path go towards

still, silent lake waters and then the woods —

coral cathedrals full of jasper shadows, carnelian rustlings.

Beyond the shadow of your house,

must lie level sands, then small humps of dunes,

shifting between contour

— small surcease for a thirst-crazed lizard —

and flatness. Then pubescent dunes,

more dunes, and loftier ones

full of desert sounds,

reverent tunnels that echo your name

over and over again.

How grand that must sound!

And all ages of stars, your children, calling