God of Thunder
Holding wind suspended in doorways:
rouses the atmosphere.
Sedated by the interstate
iced with light
snow and road sign reflections.
I swell up the way milkweed regards the sky.
Imagine the pronouncement:
a body discovered.
You knowthe sleepless voice.
The interstate's engine.
You knowthe hairs on his chest.
Here you lay with dilated eyes,
and with you, I wait, a cross in my mouth,
a cat limping away
from the shrill vowels of shadows crouching.
Drawn to the Genesis window,
school children's' eyes gaze
from Jerusalem's stones.
In the kaleidoscope, there is no compass.