i want to know people who know god
but our instruments assure his exit-
quiet, loud, inevitable.
a roar in the streets, explosion, signs
or the satellite lying quietly across the ocean
the strange sky making martyrs of mute ships.
if we're meant a return, I believe,
there will come fog and we press ourselves
through voices like old forests until we're together.
but the spirit? what do we know about weightlessness
in a dimension polluted with gravity?
a beleaguered preacher says 'have you ever loved us'
and the audience erupts.
when god doesn't answer i look for you
in a liquor store that burned down last year