God’s overcoat is the sky,
I am draped beneath the marriage
Of my body to this sordid earth;
Rain falls as Nutella over berries—
Make something sweet,
I hear it whisper,
Sticky children run sweetly
To the danger of each puddle,
Beneath overturned umbrellas
And admonishing mothers—
Though just youth might know
To cower bravely over fear,
I am lost in the sound God’s name,
But have left my flute
By my bedside,
So my breath is a rusty orchestra
Today is the 29th day after that prayer
I said so many days ago,
I expect the frenzy to be gone,
Perhaps to meet the gaze of every
Root, while I am heaped upon
Spring, I live still in the petal,
Forgetting the ominous shades
Of colors,
What comes after coffee shop doors
Are swung open,
And someone smelling of wood
Passes by,
Like you can taste a melted soup
Below passerby’s tongue
Something good will
(Most definitely)
happen,
I play with the withered voice
Of some mother who told me this once
Before I learned of God’s strategy;
My soul is folded neatly
A 1960s napkin,
Embroidered by the flowering
Each suffering brings,
And suddenly I can feel the rain
As if I am overwhelmed
By the sea from God’s eyes,
Like I can stare at the same city
For days and forget the travel.
I await inside the storm,
Relishing the tidings
That will come.
