Friday, the First Week of Lent
No one wonders
anymore
than seeing is believing.
In the gospel of life
poll-takers climb trees
then thieves
suddenly everyone
cries out for entrance into the kingdom
and thunder roars.
His head splits with flashes of lightning
and the dead memories of God
spring from the graves and roam the streets.
People grope blindly
under the cross of belief
crying at God’s failure
and mocking their own cynicism.
Seeing is believing
that death is a dustbowl in God’s kitchen
wherein swirls all that matters:
it is the promised land withering
in the blaze of fulfillment
it is holes
in the blanket of believing
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