Here is the crush
Here is the crush,
garnered and pressed;
a hitch in the stream,
a knot in the grain,
an opacity in the clear, flat glass.
Purity is imperceptible.
Light must be fractured
(and there is a certain violence to it)
to yield its colors. Here is the eternal,
cropped, pared, hewn, here and there,
moment to moment, into illusory pieces.
Here is the inaudible essence
below the accompanying wail
and whine of the spinning orbs.
Here is the spangled sky, the lurch and yaw.
Here is the price God must pay
to perceive Himself.
O child of God, it's something about
looking through a glass darkly.