The Fishes

penetrated

impenetrable

jade, seed through

utterly inky black

ness. Order fell past

injury

to tatters, re

ordered, scar

red rein

jured.

 

Go fish

in the heap of

lost images

 letters

scattered and

piled at the bottom

of the page.

How to Catch a God

The key to catching a god,

sprinkle little salt onto its tail.

But you gotta to be fast.

You have to drop the cage before it flies.

 

Soon’s you got it locked away,

you can carry it wherever it’s needed,

threaten to pull back the covercloth,

tell everyone what it would have said if would’ve talked

to them. But then

it only talks to you

of course.

 

Just don’t let it sing. Jesus

 

like a million years ago

got hold of a cage like that,

let one go.

Yanked away the covercloth, smashed open the door.

 

Couldn’t wait to get shed of these crazy salt

people.

 

               But we caught it again—caught it right way.

Stuffed it in a bright new cage. Kept a steady rain

of salt upon that ragged tail.

 

Hasn’t hardly sung once since.