Oh god of walking out
into a field that will burn
in a year, wrap a square
around these peach trees
and call it a holy of holies.
In this empty air I can see
cinderblocks surrounding
an air conditioning unit, and
I need you to breathe this clay
behemoth back to the car lot.
Oh god of life going on unannounced
on the other side of this wall,
there would be so much space here
were it not for all these people.
Come out with me and we’ll lay down
sand bags and tour the entire length
with trumpets. Something will fall,
and I’ll name it after you.

Oh god of puddles spreading into the entryway,
what if I just sit here and hold her until the towels
are full to bursting and we’ve forgotten to move
and speak but have passed a piece of loose leaf paper
back and forth between us? Sit down with us and be
an architect, make us coffee, change the channel,
make the ailanthus sway in a pool of yellow, wet,
cold, lit from below, a woman throwing her hands
back over her head. It’s morning again,
and we both have our chances.
Make this train go and go.