From the lake to river and then back home
they stroll. I would like to tell you who walks
with them, God or the Reaper . . . I don’t know.
The front door is open, the back door too.
If you look you can see all the way through.
Lock the front door. Close the back door. Silence
after footsteps. Their clothes adorn the floor.
They do what they know will please their bodies.
Water is deep or it flows by. Baptize
the devil and watch it shrivel to dust.
Even the Reaper has a human shape.
God walks on the roof. He calls up Thunder,
whose fingers are lightning and his words rain:
She would love me once more if it’s my turn.
(3 August 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander