My Book of Genesis

 

To conjure up depictions of

an object
for the magic
and to honor it as if it were
the special thing,
the sacred thing,
The Thing Itself --

and worship it or else –

is understandable.

Our mandibles
require stuff
to chew: But you – oh you! --
are quite enough
for me. I need no
holy trope for thee.

Not that I won’t

invoke a crystal sphere
to have you peer into
as if it were the final
specificity.

But everything is that:

You are my Book of Genesis,

my Noah’s ark,
Mount Ararat.








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