THE WORD OF THE LORD CAME UNTO ME IN MY YOUTH AND OBLIVION AND SPAKE THUS, IN FOOLISHNESS AND PRETENSION O MY GOD HAVE MERCY UPON YOUR UNWORTHY VESSEL FOR YOU HAVE SPOKEN THUS UNTO MY YOUTH AND OBLIVION I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD AND THUS SAY I UNTO YOUR WOUND:
I made your sad hands out of clay,
I made the way your ribs get beaten in,
I stretched your plastic skin,
and I will make it up to you, I will
make it up to you.
I pulled the weeds beneath your tomato vines.
I made my peace--
I sang my threnody along the front lines.
we're all still waiting for a sign.
there's nothing left!
they took my potter's wheel,
trampled down my dahlias,
cursed my doorframe and memory,
and now all I can sing is--
"honey, bunny, bumblebee . . ."
spin a spool around the sun
catch a bluebird for everyone
make a wish, now
I spun the circled webs into your head.
I grew the gruesome thorns from out your pores.
I cried at what I'd done
and swore that I would make it up to you.
I will make it up to you
I set your hair on fire
and doused it out again when we were children.
I made water wine,
now your fathers are drunk and gone
and I will make it up to you