From the author: This poem is about reading the Word and the sort of endless production that comes out of that search. The last and penultimate lines are a reference to the fact that his word does not return to him void and that in the end we will see that unity of heaven and earth where all is alight with the fire of his Word.
This is what it’s like —
turning over a slate stone slab
in the garden and seeing
the multiplying insects scatter
from the worm-roads, spilling
like a thousand tongue twisters
from a hoarding mouth of earth.
You’re grasping in the dust
for a divine, human word.
You’ve always got it
in your back pocket —
the magnifying glass you stole
from your dad. Your tracking
in vain each crawling line.
But each passing word you catch
in your feeble lens combusts
in an effervescent flash of
light. And all you capture is
the moment of disappearance.
In that instant — the heat
of Spirit, the snap of flesh —
some new, ancient catalyst
does its childish work.
It takes a bloodhound’s diligence.
And you know there is much
too much for one day’s search.
But here’s the thing itself —
your dad is never getting back
his magnifying glass
until all that’s left
in all the earth is fire.