The Substance of It

Did you notice God in the face
of the flame? The holy
throat of the storm belching
black? The divine in the drowning?
Perhaps, Abraham did.

But no one can know Abraham,
just the engine that blasted
his heart. The import of a light’s
glowing is woven by the blank
bodies of shade, and so is your love
to God made by the preservation
against the shadows of your self—
Abraham’s love was made greater
by his plunge into the engulfing–

00000000000And God is there
to move the flame toward you, to make
sure the love is great. The enraged
suckling of your cancer is conjured
by a need—His need for a love
immeretricious. But what is He
if He needs the imperishable
devotion? And what are you
to accept the role? I guess I cannot
know Abraham.

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