a witness

From when I was very young
and learning how to listen
I've meant to be a vessel
for someone who is eternal.

I've witnessed a few miracles;
I've seen three fireflies
light up:
\"I\"
\"love\"
\"you\"
when we kissed,
and the stars

formed a giant EYE
looking down.

I wonder if THE POET
speaks to me more directly
than other people,
or if my ears specifically
open

--and it doesn't matter.

What matters is the sky
the dirt
the leaf doing sommersaults in the wind.

I witnessed a fire
open its arms to the heavens;
we three prayed and cried
and why do I believe in God?

Because the moon vanished
and the stars appeared,
and my friend Jones
burned his socks on purpose.

Because we're still alive.

Because he shows me
images
when my eyes are closed
but I'm not sleeping:

bends of lovers' backs
immersed in beautiful patterns,
warriors dancing on fire,
a pearl

that represents us all
tossed about by oceans,
storms, kings, wars,
and finding its home
in the palm
of a little girl.