The 'no' of God

comes like fire-- the sudden
spark on dry leaves, and all
is lost.
pinches like tip of finger
in closet door-- the aftermath
of bruise tells all....showing others,
they nod and sigh
and everyone knows what it means.
knocks out the wind, knocks
on the door-- more like bangs,
and you can't refuse to let
this thief in.
stings, like pouring the wine
on the wound instead of the tongue.

the widow's wheel

With this ribbon, I spin you
up in black, than white-- the day
of night, the movement called belief.
You become the tree in my yard,
the stature of Goliath--I bring you
down to me and grasp the limb
of your love.

the theology of thought

In the thick of collarbone, driving splinter deep into the reprise of foundation, I met a boy made of wood. He lived with a horse of noise, in a castle that shown like a city on a hill. But I am a lightbulb, pale from the retreat of night and white-knuckle days. I believe in the woodpecker-- the tree he pokes and prods from dawn 'til dusk. I enjoy the rethink of Jesus, the awe of omniscience, the revamp of king. I hunt through blue lighted snow, heavy on my heart and soft on my pink boots.