Identity holds itself in God.
memory:
a satellite disc on some deserted horizon
like the ones i used to see at dusk up
in los alamos, New Mexico
what was i doing there then?
same thing as now
just with less fuss
and less stuff-
seeing people
noticing moments
where identity stands still
and the whole universe is resonance
identity holds itself in God.
(memory of sitting in hot springs with a friend)
was it your shoulder, bare, emerging
from hot spring surface back then
which i remember most;
or the way snow passed, falling towards us,
through that steam
scattering in patterns just before touching our faces.
i just now recall the instant of feeling
very human.
Identity holds itself in God.
coffee alone was reason to awake
back then; that was the first half of the day
making it to the cafe
making the rounds over everyone’s depression
and splendor. We, all artists
with no living room
but this.
Identity holds itself in God.
My cars mainly
are what i called home
my front yard-harvard square etc
at night pushing the seat back all the way
in case someone passed
i would look like a package
from another world.
Identity holds itself in God.
sleeping under church pews
figuring escape routes
stealing communion wafers
drinking welches grape juice
all a child knows of
communion.
Identity holds itself in God.
train passes
coffin rattles
preacher makes altar call
at my grandfather’s funeral.
just outside watermelons shine
beside the endless tracks
Identity holds itself in God.
we look at one another over
again, going from room to room
of the same house, wherever it is,
staring at our particulars-
the curve of this clavicle
the bending of that wrist, over time
not to mention the endless history of eyes;
or our own life stories-all details included.
maybe this is the purpose
of marriage, to behold
over and over
until
we know
