Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Holy Doodads

Aching for the sacred,
the symbolic mind plays roles –
squeezes mystery from history:

sifts through centuries’
inspired elaboration
of some anecdotal sight:

creates a sacerdotal rite –
takes sod and makes a god
or two. Pass the Holy Chicken

through! Priests’ feasts!
Kings’ rings! Eat, kiss, sacrifice –
the stakes are dire! Gods require

blood. Mythologize a flood.
Everything has meaning.
Everyone is leaning

to the left or right –
straining to pick up the latest
source of spirit-light. I have no

lead to share, no bead on what
is worth our care. Strange
and riveting – our robes

and holy doodads, though –
our prayerful poetry’s
odd solemn flow – as if

it knew somewhere to go –
the inside story on will be
and is and was. Perhaps it does.


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