Legend
has it that when he was a boy
His
bare-feet
Maintained
an intimate relationship
With
clotheslines and telephone wires.
On
the ground he was one of us,
A
down-to-earth dad
Who
drove his kids to school,
But
high in the circus sky
He
was the star of the Milky Way,
Our
Gracious Lord
And
Almighty Father.
Isn’t
everything theater?
Scorning
safety nets
He’d
pretend to take a false step
Lose
his duel with gravity
Spank
the air with his pole
Then
acknowledge our gasps
By
regaining his balance
And
doffing his hat.
Alas,
he earned his silver urn
The
hard way
In
an unguarded moment
Of
joie de vivre
When
he clicked his heels
With
arduous ease
In
a fancy slight-of-foot trick
Mingled
his legs with the air
And
landed upside down
In
the middle of his throng
Of
true believers.
Sometimes,
however,
Death
can be as deceptive
As
a happy ending.
Aghast,
we watched his soul
Exhale
itself out of his mouth
In
a cloud of vapor
Which
we politely,
Even
reverentially
Coughed
in for a while
Until
the uncertain air,
Gaseous
and warm,
Suddenly
fashioned itself
Into
the steady stable image
Of
an angel
Holy
ghosted by God and sanctified
By
the everlasting church
Of
the old rugged cross.
Shining
brighter
Than
a florescent light bulb,
Our
Divination
Doubled
up His energy
By
absorbing our prayers
Then
hovered in mid-air,
One
last levitation
For
our benefit—what a rapture!
Before
He opened His wings
To
the sky,
Ascended
heavenward
And
vanished forever after
In
the atmosphere.
Ten
years later His congregation
Is
one hundred thousand strong
And
growing everyday.
Blessings
on our critics who claim
That
our memories blur with the effort
Of
their being remembered,
But
they shall not have been there.
Forgive
them, Our Very Present Help
In
Time of Trouble,
For
the insufficiency and misdirection
Of
their faith.
Let
their sacrilegious incantations
Fall
like lightning bolts
On
ashes and dark matter
Instead
of on You, dear Levitator,
Lover
of high places
And
all things ridiculously real.
***
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