What It Is
Suzanne Scarfone

On one occasion
god spoke to me
in clichés
in order to
disguise
himself
the sky is blue
the trees are green
the morning is bright

in the middle of
a warm brown
church the oak
pews quivered
just a little
I could tell
this was
my vision
in the aisle
I saw daisies
and wrens
and had to paint
them hands
waving
in front
of me
there was a rain
green wind
sacred and
sightless
and a monk
sucking apple
blossoms
god said
there is one thing and
each breath adds up
to this one thing

but what it is
escapes me now
maybe itís in
my painting or
outside
in the
clouds