As water about to boil is cloudy with intent and heat
I sometimes quake at the appearance of the world about me,
a numenous dread of power unshown.
perhaps a brief moment of spiritual vanity,
to pretend to a sense of things far larger than me
something beneath and beyond and
written of as fact in a thousand books and holy writ.
Ours is a body of time,
some live within the veins and organs of the body
ranging over the vast skin of a penumberal kingdom within
and without;
still, the thin line is woven through my thoughts
by ghosts and proper souls alike.
And time through arteries and organs in my body
spins and wobbles
weaves and feasts
on a hundred intentions unfollowed each day.
Having arrived at every decision through care
and a certain amount of divine indifference,
God's shoulder remains a place to lean upon-
process completed,
from sufficient to unnumbered to overrun;
we recognize ourself again
as if from the outside.