Always fading in and out

the myriad creatures

coming from the opened gates of creation

 

I look into the mouth, the entrance

and the fissure is opening

in what I thought was solid

 

in my own chest too

the wound is opening

in what I thought was solid

 

and the pain of it makes me still

and try and sit through it, please

I might cry to the hurting god

 

and the sitting through becomes

a kind of knowledge

and the god suffering through

 

whatever the god suffers too

becomes a kind of compassion

the companionship of passion

 

and the myriad creatures

between these twin gateposts

which I don’t need to spell out

 

for a reader such as yourself, I know,

come flowing out like

a spillage of blood,

 

spoilage of water, the beautiful

and the putrid, the vanity

and the superabundance of humility.