The Almighty Reconsiders His Role in a World We’ve Recreated

Brian Simoneau


Still burning against a backdrop of stone and sand, above stores

of oil and water and records of lives long gone, under a sky that ignites nothing like wonder anymore. What matter these stars,

suns so far away, when daily the blink of cities at dusk hums louder, leaks farther into wilderness?

A man drives a rusty truck and does odd jobs for folks who can't pay: most days

my word's all I got; if I don't keep my word I ain't worth shit. So be it then.

Still burning, my voice even now emanates from the hiss, snap of cold air and blue flame,

but no prophets wander these lands to listen

and what, pray tell, to say that hasn't been proclaimed and declaimed over and over. No more water but fire next time. Right.

For the moment eternal, but unlikely to be found again, broken covenants going un-rekindled—

too much fire all around, too many flames, and smoke spreads

across the eyes of all who would try to discern my being, my word, my flickering form in this void.