Golgotha Has Changed
The children on the hill look up, are met
with sunlight
a diaphanous hazel-eyed gaze that angels
dot with invisible lines, as if to make
geometrical puzzles for entertainment
they (the children, the angels) think
we have never been afraid of anything tangible
the dirty, arid hill is dangerous
sharp fossils, land mines
holes that have no bottoms nor reason, but
the children laugh, dance above their predecessors'
peaceful bones, galavant around with
cowboy & indian wanderlust because
God will wash his hands, suture our silly wounds
when the moon relieves the sun, as it
has always done
the ground glazes over with ice, and
the children skate & slide, hold hands
sing songs that lack meaning to them
the angel brass band blares, the drummer boy
pounds his snare
golden notes zoom in the air, up there
up there
God smiles, contemplates his creations
then he goes to bed
for the first time
since everything
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