Biblical
I never quite caught on to this day.
Like, what to do with all this space that surrounds?
I stand on observant ground.
Slow rolling grasses.
Green and brilliant.
Delicate and riotous in color,
or quiet sound.
Like the sound of limbs moving
or a hinged jaw with a gulping throat.
Worrying.
Will my steps be too stingy?
I wonder this thing out loud
yet speak it into my sleeve.
This is a thing best not seen,
much less heard.
Having endless insights
while residing in this enclosed garden.
At nighttime, headlamps sweep this yard,
providing splayed, intermittent illumination
around trunks.
Wondering if there is a hollowed place in which to step.
Where I can be the greater for having done that.
Hoping I will not be too dull to know.
I am aware of the efforts of clouds to be dishonest
about the presence of the sun.
But I believe better than that.
But this, too, is something I would not want to say out loud.
What would I need to do to live here for all eternity?
You can tell a lot about a man
by the cut of the Bible,
he carries on his hip.