Dear God

Dear God,

This is me, again
sorry I haven't called, we have been
out of area. For vacations and the crisping of skins
for the dreadful amount of answering back and forth like a pendulum to someone
with a chair higher, cleaner than ours. For the running and the re-baking of my daily bread
I have hungered for light after lunch and before dinner, like a pitcher
see-through and clear, clear of sedimentation and the clamming of mud.
I am guilty of sleeping in sermons, of using an effective mind
with gazelles, trees dangling of pomegranates and poets and prophets
and poems like prophets hailing toward innocent laps
I seek the scent of a man, in my lungs
like oxygen, taste like apricots his tender flesh
and flush away, like fruit ripening under his arms,
we sit by our dreams and think as the world spins
how could you forbid us fruits you created solely for us?

Dear God,
last night I passed a beggar on the street, pleading for a shot at decency
I told him to answer to you,
when the bread grows moldy and when the ashes of the day turn
arid to the exhalation of sunshine in the evening sky.
to ask you instead of me
for a start at the opposing ends

Dear God,
I have trusted that you will pave the way
give flowers for the spring and blazes hefty with snow for winter
then regenerate summer, like the cauldrons of hell
sharp for the issues we make between noon and night-time
I leave to you the remaking of clay in the pots of summertime

in recent years
I have seen my house tumble, stone by stone
the corners soldered out with dust and the shapes of shadows
prancing round where once I've sat down and prayed
dear God,
as this house tumbles, it is me again
allow me to  turn in my bones before hardening
after the flood
sweeps me in the current
onward