When Clouds Tilt Parallel to the Plane

isn’t it easy

enough to im-

agine

the sky

tilting to black

like snowy peaks

on which rose-

colored lichen

grows

like girls

in togas in

procession

at the cele-

bration of

the god?

The Lord Is in the Sky

The Lord is in the sky. We are flat. Lie flat on the plain. Open your eyes. The sky is drifting water;

glass is drifting see. Heaven is above. A mountain rises over the plane; Mount Sinai rises over the

desert. The Lord is on the mountain; time is the plane. A sheet of glass bakes under the sky. I

glimpse the plane, echoed in the plain, seen through my kitchen window. Clouds float like popcorn

across the Nebraska sky. The Lord enters in a cloud; eternity enters time. The Lord crosses the

plane, tearing up the plain, making room for the invisible. The visible lifts like clumps of soil,

tendrils screaming in the light.