Ecstatic. Nobody in real white. No body, and yet,
body, like a housefire.
The smell of burning soap and peaches
in the trashcan where the whole thing started.
A waiting that keeps all things new.
I am waiting for all things made new-
a place like a planet we cannot know.
I love it sometimes, mostly,
I am afraid of this sweet expanse and the voice of God
all resurrection and eternal language.
Tenderness, spoken in a desert.
The few times we receive God,
slippery in us, undoing all doubt,
I remember I will never be alone.
Watching a murder show about girls running
from men with knives, I remember:
I will never be alone.
Looking at lilac and seeing the face, at least
the hand, of God, once. I prayed until I was a ruin.
I loved that ruin, I became. Ecstatic.
Break, Blow, Burn by Alisha Dietzman | Pink Peony Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
