Enlightenment

The smell of wet brick
and aged books flood me;
taken to an earthen sculpture
whose movement only stirs the sea
of acrylic and every heavy leg placed beneath the colour,
reverberates and sets in motion all the world,
and paints my beginning, which is the same as yours,
but tell me otherwise.

Inform me rapidly like pearls
falling from their thread, only swifter
and more different than what we’ve known—
chant a great deal of proverbs
in hope that I’ll approach
to accept your clever words,
pull me from the distant deeps
and quench me with a tone
from your endless golden chord
as would the Angel’s tremor hold me
throughout the storming of its horn.

Wash my sins away
with your blessed heaven gourd.
Tell your God of my reluctance
and pray that I’m absorbed
within the light that emanates
from every step beyond my door,
from every string beyond His core.

I’ve retired from the people
and at the point where I was weakest—
at the point where good or evil
had a chance to lift me from my seat!
I found that I had lost all passion,
and if the world had come to crashing
I would not help to lift a single piece.