The Kingdom
THE KINGDOM
Which is more frightening:
the borderless expanse delineating
there from here, or its sheer
proximity, our faces so smeared
with its paint we’re all but blinded
to the art? It is, as advertised,
at-hand, in-hand, and even—
per St. Symeon—is the very hand,
if nonetheless concurrently beyond
the grasp of our gouty minds.
With such a far-ranging field
of near-likenesses, what might we
then conclude of this kingdom,
this child—prismatic as a poem—
intimately known and endlessly opening?
Comments
Post a Comment