KNOCKED OFF HIS ASS INTO HISTORY

As the sky reached down and

struck.

O Lord Who Is It?

Blinding like a knife of sun.

(Today, some speculate lightning.)

Then what the thunder said.

Saul, Saul.


Saul, It Is I.



When the blindness was removed,
it must have seemed another fall.

What to do
with all these
things?

Why?

Why Do You Persecute Me?

Instead,
another mislocation of heaven
far from home.

Why Do You Persecute Me?
It Is I.

Glisten in the brainpan
and supple thunder of the
muscle in the chest, blood
plunged through rivers.

Ions cast by sun
scattered half and half
through blue.

It Is I.

Do not say this is not Spirit.
It lunges and tumbles and reeks with Spirit.

It Is I.

Why shouldn't earth
kindle miracles this way?
Why should vision not be born
of molecules and meat?

What breaks and glides and looms
beyond all language
has to appear as someone,
somehow.

That face as good as another.


It Is _______





Michael Cherry 2007, 2014.