Volume 34, Number 2

God Says

I am smaller than you might imagine I
am all never imagined— even leaping out
window, cutting your own beautiful flesh,
carving cold & your child’s forever disappearance I
am the helve of the gun, the buried bottles of gin
that penny you saved & the misers’ lies I
am Jehovah’s witness knocking at your door during wild
sex— that wetness that makes you want I
am the waking at 1 & 3 & 4, the finally flung covers
& kneeling in the rain next to your buried dog I
am your cancer never cured, your poems
swimming in liminal seas riding
domes of cumulus, felling trees in squalls I
am all your worlds waiting, clay in your hands

—Lindsay Rockwell