Sensory Rebuttal to the Gnostics

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SENSORY REBUTTAL TO THE GNOSTICS


And hearing they'd been taught

the hope of sloughing off,

He spoke to them—the growing

crowd of body-bound—saying:


I am the fingerprint, 

forensic evidence that 

here—the scene of such

a scandalous encounter—myth

and intellect made contact. 


I am the pidgin dialect,

Creole communion

of the hometown

vernaculars of heart and mind. 


I am—smell that?—the scent 

of eternity in passing time, 

the whiff of wood smoke pen-

etrating your city streets. 


I am the aftertaste 

of the wine, the one 

that lingers on your tongue

long after the glass—dare

I stretch the metaphor

to your very flesh—

has been laid to rest.


I am—close your eyes—

the visible in all unseen. Now

open them. I am as

well the invisible in all that is. 


And hearing him, they were

touched, as it were, by his words,

and if some insisted they

reeked of heresy, 

some began to apprehend

it as an invitation—

yes, in their very skin—

to taste and see.


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