THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU
Gates, squares, market stalls,
wildcat dumps, full burn barrels of regret.
Potters turning kickwheels with their warped feet,
lovers in doorways, transvestite prostitutes,
rain on the roofs, libraries. Dovecotes, wild doves,
chickens, roosters, peacocks
in ornamental gardens. Zoos. Lions.
Storehouses of grain, of spices, oils,
children's hopes. Schools. Occupying forces
with dice cups. Women with yokes
and water jars, women with the full weight
on curved shoulders. And above this a hill
of crosses, clattering tombs.
It's an ordinary kingdom, from your gates of eye
and ivory to your heart's midden, secret springs.
But one city touches another
and the walls blink into saffron.
One city touches another and both ring
like trumpets. A king gives a beggar girl
a crown of rubies, peaches in heavy cream.
You are the king
and the beggar girl, the beehives
and the rain, the dice and the soldiers,
the well water, the feet and shoulders
of the poor. You are the guard
flinging open the gates,
the horse of the royal messenger
that stamps like the heart, and prances.
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It draws me back, this one. One sign of a good or at least potentially good poem. Unfortunately also a sign of deep unresolved personal issues. But I think this one might be the former. We'll see what my editor says, after she gets done gapping at me for having another poem that might go in Thunder.
