Gods and Monsters
Where is the god that becomes a bear,
stumbling fresh out
from her season of rest?
Headlong in winds
of balsam seed
and cottonwood.
A god who has grown lean
from her contemplation.
A god of awe and wonder.
Find me the god that is a hawk.
Keen in eye, sharp in descent.
The unwary pay her tribute
with rib bones, flayed sinews.
A god who sees the pattern
of shadowed valleys and rippled time.
A god holding our faith, wavering yet,
for light’s return.
Show me the god that is a storm,
a tempest that shakes loose
the dormancy of compliance.
A god who abets no false hierarchy.
A god that devours whole
the cynics, the demons of our time.
I want that god
of grosbeaks and grasses.
Sea foam and stars.
Alive in my very breath.
I can feel her move,
slow and sybaritic,
dancing now within my body.
I want that god.
That god.
Not your monsters.