Easy For a God

That's what they said when you, pale
dress, laid your head
on the kitchen table. It was
the attitude of the moth, moments

ago knocking the orbed light—
all life and sizzle
and Icarus when in a flash
of folding he was a shut
and final fan.

Easy for a god.

That's what they said when you couldn't
hack being alone—love again, in those
furtive weeks, married the sky
to your elbow, it happens
like this, the world made for twos.

That each blue is a waterbed
and your name in the dark
and a liquid
wrench on the whole affair.

It's rain
always at your back when you stop
to listen.

The lepidopterist
and the god let themselves in,
point to the moth, exhibit A: burn,
baby, burn. It happens like this,
but only a god can keep out
ofthe furnace.

After the moth
seized upyou heard
a near church tolling
the hour. And it was right, and it was
for you because tonight
your ears tuned to

the infinitesimal
and invertebrate. The ordinary.

Easy for a god.

But for the rest of us? You? A woman
in her kitchen at the hands
of the clock, biorhythms
of stardust just wishing to cork
upa sloppy, self-pitying loneliness.

Get this: Quit waiting for the phone
to ring. Those church bells
are for poets. And that moth
is one tawny ash—
one of millions
to call your future name while falling.