As if a god.
(And I say it as if, because I am)
the aging Alpha, the oldest Omega. Because
I roll my crushing bulk through puddles
of miniscule worlds, making waves
and hold the wheel that turns the wheels
that are in me. As if these were your eyes
rolling back in my head.
As you were here behind my iris,
the rusted flower that tears me its petals.
Because I am the gnarled root the pistil
grows from and the stamen giving.
As if spring were eternal here.
Because I tried to be in that wrinkled cloud
and be that cloud you believe in,
I’ll hide myself and only sing one finger
into sight for you, to spin the wheel
of stars. Because I am able.
Because the shudder and twitch of weather
makes us withered, makes us whole.
Because we are most
at home in front of flashing boxes,
our homes, boxes within us. As if a shoe
like a leather face, empty by the door.
Because I am that shoe and in it,
omnipotent, and because I am
the one who cannot walk away.