I have this occasional vision of god
I have this occasional vision of god:
A woman of a certain age,
With a large feather boa
Of a changeable color (to suit the mood).
Kindly but benignly imperious.
Solid, certain, seeing all but
Rather above it all, naturally.
(Someone else carries the cash and cards)
She hears your prayers but moves steadily along
Hearing more and, if a chorus,
She waves her gloved hand and you die,
Or the world changes. Maybe it’s better.
Understand, what this woman doesn’t know is not worth
Knowing, it’s merely heat emitted by a flaring torch.
Not the real event, just a byproduct.
Men may manipulate the heat, but the light moves ahead.
