Positioned for complete sacrifice,
prepared for a gritty recrudescing
in my natural dust, but first;
i do need to know if i know You.
It is essential, like my friends,
beer snobs, who drink
Eliot Ness and Edmund Fitzgerald,
they knowingly distance their names
from anything less.
My concern is less with alcohol,
(despite them i barely drink at all),
but with creation, with art, with imagination.
Be not daft and simple for me,
but give me knowledge; to what will You
ascribe Your name? How will You announce
Your presence, make Your nature known?
i see You speak the world alive in poem.
Bringing rhythm and meter to spaces unbound,
cherishing language, You bring forth
ground and water, punctuate darkness and light,
and with nothing less, with holy words.
As I hear the black breaking, i know,
we have a lot more knowing to do.
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