Thursday, April 21, 2011


No one claims to have seen the God
in whose image we are made.
       We too go unseen,
when we go as God.

The sky is fuchsia, and orange
flames hem the black earth.
       Refraction and impedance
betray our whereabouts.

Whose persons do we move with now,
       where we are seen?
Our impression makes our likeness;
we are figures for ourselves.