IN PRAISE OF INNOCENCE

floating in flowers 2.png

In dawn’s blossoming light

I see.

I can tell you this single truth:

Kittens are worth more than dollars.

I measure wealth in the intricacy of eyelashes,

not pennies.

I must ask:

Why was I so afraid of this world he tried to show me?

And why did I run so far from the breaking of my clay vessel?

Let the light in me leak out.

Around me now, flowers bloom

bursting into sunrise

replicated on the hillside

again and again and again

colors not seen in the gray world I used to know

a loveless web of shoulds and musts and death.

In your story, the grave is the end,

but I have died, and I am still alive.

What do you make of that,

undertaker?

What do you do with the miracle of me?

You must ask yourself this question now:

How do we subdue a star that has already risen

far out of reach?

How do we silence the wind?

How do we unshow the queen the diamonds that grew in her bones

now that she has been boiled down to glittery marrow?

I perch on the tip of the crescent moon

singing hymns to divinities

who had nothing to do with your petty churches.

My gods do not bow

to idols.

Yes, there is forever.

I sit at its center

and bloom.

I am a lotus

a blue egg a wandering Christ found one night

and cracked.

My sunrise yolk bled out.

Yesterday, you crucified him

because he didn’t look the way your book imagined he should.

My king wore jeans and dusty boots instead of sanitized white robes.

The story is always the same,

but no matter, beloved fools.

 

It always ends with resurrection.

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