confession

A Seers Confession


I’m kneeling on the floor, knees resting on glass ashtrays,
hurts like hell, but it will help me concentrate, my eyes
are closed, now or never, on opening them will I see God?
Not one of his seraphs, or his son and his bleeding feet,
not as a distant voice whispering banalities into my ears,
but the real person. (false teeth and all.) I have removed
the ashtrays, the pain I was ready to confess to anything.

Have you ever wondered why it is that prisoners appearing
in court with black eyes, are said- by their guards- to have
fallen down iron steps? But never mind that, I’m resting on
a soft pile carpet, eyes still closed, when I open them He
better be there, because my body is burning up with eager
virtue. I’m very focused, nothing, not even the barking dog
outside, shall break my religious devotion.

It’s gone quiet, I’m hungry and I need a smoke; fragrance
of Turkish Virginia tobacco, from the street below, wafts.
Tomorrow I’ll try again, seeing God isn’t such a big shake,
I’ve read that holly men have often seen Him, and sages,
coming down mountains have seen Him too. I, personally
speaking, think God looks like the sky, mirroring itself on
the calm ocean; on a day, when our eyes wide are open?