If you don’t believe in the divine,
all the better. It’s nothing like
what you think it is, anyway.
You don’t remember when you
glimpsed perfection; perfection
exists, but is never remembered.
Memory is for judgment and improvement,
a mere sorting mechanism for guards
and clerks or poets hurting for a word.
We cannot remember the divine.
Tasting but not tasting because the sweet
taste doesn’t stay. If you know what that’s like—
my divine hints might be working.
Pride, like memory, cannot know the divine.
Like the beauty you hate that someone else has
the divine beats down your pride. Sexuality
exists only because of the hidden deity
you kissed in a dream but do not remember.
The earthly things you worship
are laughed at by God. But once,
when we kissed, when we looked
at each other and were one,
I thought I saw Being lying
and heard the crying sun.