What is known
A poem about god
The trees know nothing of gods,
the trees are the gods
exhaling life
they pleasure the sky
with effortless tongues.
The pigeons cooing in the loft
know nothing of martyrdom,
flight is a language
devoid of sacrifice,
the pigeons are the gods.
A grasshopper’s mandibles
work without prayer’s necessity,
worshiping the scent of green,
color their eyes never register,
the grasshopper is god.
The river is a vein without a heartbeat,
it knows nothing of birth or death,
it knows nothing but flow,
an absence of all senses
lending itself to replenishment.
The river is god.
The sky knows nothing of stars,
nothing of clouds, birds or moon.
The sky knows nothing of rain,
of breath, of blue.
The Earth knows nothing of war,
nothing of geese
forming their migrational V.
The Earth knows nothing of man
scribbling their worships
onto cave walls.
Dirty fingerprints left on a bone.
The universe knows nothing of Earth,
nothing of Fibonacci, nothing of the whale,
as a woman knows nothing
of the life
she bleeds onto the bedsheet.
