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Hard to believe--
Two summers ago, I spent
Months of sleepless nights
Attempting to love the monster
I’d become. I’d put my arms around him,
Whisper in his hairy ear -– There, there,
Whimpering brute. It’ll be all right.
On this winter evening,
The high blue sky is tossing off
Miracles, intricate mandalas,
Thousands, falling in ragged spirals
Through the sooty cracks of this city.
And I, awed by grace’s sudden descent,
Am enticed into that old guilt: that I clutter
My life. Out troublemaking, I stand up Beauty.
But see that homeless man?
He doesn’t think it’s so beautiful.
One man’s truth is another’s Duluth.
I don’t feel much like debate, though,
On this night when cold air is
Flowering against the darkness. I’m in love, see?
With this schlub, a guy who doesn’t know
Who Anita Bryant is. Good God.
Each night we die,
And each morning we wake to the hoax.
Excuse me, the heavenly hoax.
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