The statuette lies askew in the grass,
The cracks in the road mended // with black rubber,
Forcing plants to surrender all their colors,
Leaving only the yellow of the aftermath.

I see what little green remains, // dwells,
Lingering between the broken steps // of the church,
In front of my eyes.
Like stones and nails embedded // in tire treads,
Moving forward with mechanical steps,
Thrown off, leaping,
finally falling to the ground,
As if dead.

I know he still lives,
I can find that gaze in the grass, // somewhere.
Recognizable at a glance, // his hope brings despair.
I linger in the crosshatch of green,
Listening to children pray around, // on the bed,
Longing to be heard, be healed
to be seen by him // at the table end,
Until we abandon hope,
And the strength // of all living beings within our grasp.

There are no answers, no choices.
When looking at children's drawings,
Scribbles growing outward from the heart, // prominently,
Blue ripples and traces of sunlight, // there.
Mixed with clasped hands, // the parents,
Red flowers, green grass, // yellow birds.
Except for you,
In a world built // of botanical gardens and dinosaur museums.

No more, the lonely search, // grace before meals,
No need, to go to the desert, // to hear passerby’s parables,
No meaning, to wait, // in taverns, for vipers,

Then, abandoning the past, // yourself,
no regrets for having waited, // wasted.
For truth.
Rules. Never seen.

Until truth arrives at your bed, // by side,
Your mind repeats in dreams, // many times.
Return, before the sacrifice that never began.
Realizing your death cannot bring smiles // to the world,
People still pray, for whom, // only children will listen.
Flowing by the pillow, // hidden in pleasant dreams, is despair.
Before ascending to the moon, // never crying.
Told me, you don't want // to see anyone's tears.

I said,
I believe you,
So, I bless you,
May you see yourself,
Not as others see you.

Even as words grow from damp desire,
Embracing the goodness no // one is willing to believe,
Only moldering in the shadow // of the sun,
shedding the garment of honesty,
Covering you as seen by the world, // without speaking.
I can certainly pretend // you are still listening,
Leaning close, waiting for the wind,
to bring your voice.

There are no disciples, final,
They are still growing, // and haven't yet begun to believe.
No funeral. No. Please.
Sunlight still dances across the barren ground,
The moon hasn't spoken, // hasn't ceased its weeping,
Hasn't surrendered the right // to wither and age,
Offering both flesh // and faith to the void,
Just as you discarded yours // to the wind.