Poetic Interlude III

I ask myself:

Can I take this doubt

And make a clean wicker basket?

Can I survive the hell of unbelief?

If I find someone who makes me quiver,

Will I leave the shelter?

Our world is so modern

That it has become paleolithic,

And I find myself looking out of the cave

Dreaming of a man leading goats

That have not yet been domesticated.

I find myself looking out of the cave

Dreaming of a man on a horse

Though horses are not yet horse-shaped.

I ask myself:

Can the God inside me survive

My unbodied mind, churning

And churning dirt into mud and

Mud into sin?