The Gods of Art

The rain is cold on my face
gliding among people
in and out of windows, doors, places
gliding
alone with this new clear hard stillness
quiet
learning the new breath

Later they backed up and smashed it
but now the looking out to sea
no faces any more
no people
searching over the spoils of war
holding my warm light heart
and turning away to the
looking

no words worth saying
you know what you are
how could I change you
you won't hear me anyway
you won't listen
but I ask you
what god do you serve?

I hear geese across the rain
I sat in the moss and looked
sunlight weaving apon the waves of the sound
light trickeled and bent my eye back
clouds
A baby covered me with old leaves and sticks
dirt and pinecones
laughed while I spaced out in the woods
and didn't care anymore
forgot them all
birds everywhere

what does it matter anyway
there's always some like them
in love with the me-self
grabbing with laser beam eyes
pretend hair, skin, words
while the clouds move
imperceptably
and the plants grow between the cracks
of time

we love somehow
even if we slide back a space
and enter the moonlight
soccer game

only God hears in the end
the smooth rock
the feather
the falling into it all
against our will

what else can one do but be kind
what else can one do but forgive
the jet plane rumbles across the night sky
the man types to know one in a screen of illusion on the edge of change