–after Nicanor Parra
God is a bigfoot. Giant squid of the deep.
The last seaside resort. A Mexican standoff.
No joke. The airplane stays aloft by collective
wishing. Art is a rich and gray soil. Money, green
shoots in a field of dead clover. Dogs are Buddha,
are rooting, court jesters. Ice cream is fashion, is
prayer books. God is a wig, a wink, a coat of wool.
Ecstasy, a burp, a remodeled interior, an accident
of two. Or faith. Babies, patchwork quilts, the bed
itself. Bicycles, fringe. The heartland, suede.
Darkness, a president. A party. A beacon. God is
a script. In pencil. Traced over in red ink.