i. zeal for this house
I’ve been so long tending
this old fire in my chest,
that I forget what sparked it.
But it still keeps me warm
when I worry that
I might someday be wrong.
I’ve been so long raging
against things I couldn’t know,
like a line of cleansing fire
taking field and forest too,
like a pyre for the witch,
for the stranger, for the son.
I am angry at so many things
and none of them at all.
I can’t look straight enough
along the lines to see the source.
But I fear
it’s nearer still than all of these.
ii. look, the sky
Look,
the sky
is unfolding
like a magnolia blossom
and the long tender ears of corn
are reaching up and up
to touch it, bounty to bounty,
sea green to rose gold,
but this idiot
is driving five under
in the passing lane.
iii. wrath is a man
Wrath is a man
who is righteous
but was just told
otherwise.
Wrath is a man
who has never
lost anything
until now.
Wrath is a man
who loves for
what he gets
not receiving.
Wrath is a man
on the brink of
seeing himself
for the first time.
iv. whales and worms
I am too easy with anger
for someone with no control,
like a prophet
under a broad green leaf,
hands extended in
hope of brimstone warmth.
And the heat is in the word:
the tip of a whip
opening your cheek.
How is it that I pierce
this heart that I hold so close to my own,
beating
together after
the blow?
How is it that we ever recover
from these wounds?
Sometimes it takes
whales and worms,
sometimes different words.
Sometimes it takes long
and lonesome
to quench this flame
until you matter more
than me.