A Poem by Anon ymous

The sun, tethered to a power line
divides north from south

night from despair
morning from rapture.

She favors midday, the scorch
and burn of silence,

the possibility to catch
God with his guard down.

Make him stumble, stammer
the wrong answer

like that time in the garden;
not Eden but Gethsemane.

She tilts her head at the sound
of the earth as it spins, unafraid

as the line curves into the horizon,
heavy with the voice of God.

1 thought on “Siren

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