CHARRED

I’d be thinking all night about god,

thinking there was nothing to think.

 

From that balcony overlooking the trees

I could see nothing beyond galaxies,

nothing more than a few clouds

just outside the spheres of my eyes.

 

A breeze fanned their tarot shapes

across the August sky.

 

It was that one cloud,

a dark and cloven cloud

between me and the moon,

that sent me inside, locking all doors,

sent me curling under the sheets

deeper into my center

like burning parchment

to blasphemous truth.

 

 

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