After
After I was dead I had no mouth
So the hummingbirds came down and kissed the flowers.
After I was dead I had no ears
So the grass grew taller and the wind came down
And listened all through the night.
After I was dead I had no eyes
So the crows came and pecked at the light in the trees.
After I was dead I had no hands
So the turtles carried the world on their backs.
After I was dead I had no feet
So the toads burrowed under the ground
And waited for spring.
After I was dead I had no fire where once I had a heart
So the spring turned to winter just for me.
I learned more dead than I ever had alive.
**
All the Songs
All the songs God sings; the mice
hide in the walls,
though they know it’s futile
for noses twitch and throats start squeaking.
Humans build very thick
walls, and pretend they can’t hear a thing
and constantly hum,
a tiny thunder at the back of the throat.
God is pleased by new harmonies,
or lack thereof: squeaking
or humming is acceptable.
God’s songs are dissonant,
if you hadn’t noticed.
They lay waste. Trumpets
cracking stone are the least of it.
A mouth called desire
is God’s instrument of choice.
Every note is perfect,
but don’t look back.
It’s all ash,
or echoes if you’re into mockery,
drifting, swirling: a world.
It’s called the world
which makes it even more terrible
if such is possible.
When God started singing
all the angels fled to Heaven.
At least they had somewhere to go.
