Daniel Stewart

SINGULARITY

Fired from God’s .45 she tore a hole
in me black as a crow’s wing.
She found the universe dull as a sitcom, the laughtrack
louder with the voices of the dead than October
rain’s gallop across the roof, and so
collapsed. She languished, lilac, leopard;
I prayed to prowl with her, prey with her, lick
blood and meat with her, but God sucked
my tongue into His mouth and
bit. Rain, you are song when I long
for arms; the birds tuck heads
under wing, wings are weapons, like the wind
in the leaves; wings are choices, like the sea
throwing up stars on the sand. She tore
a hole in me the size of God
so heavy with gravity not even light
escapes me.

–from Rattle #28, Winter 2007