Flesh through the blinds is sunlight gleaming on dust.
But what vast touch can maim?
How does God explain existence to immortals?
I tried to speak to an enduring Gabriel.
But as I knelt for prayer and pleated fingers together
A pain touched fingertips;
Trickled onward towards my clavicle.
And in that agony
I was touch. A sense blinded by its obedience.
I questioned, “why Gabriel do you serve my existence
To this obedience?”
I was met with silence.
But isn’t it best to think of politicians
And not Gods?
Putting to rest conspirators’ woe-
We all sleep in sunlight
Somewhere. Even immortals
Need time to comprehend
The perfection of flesh burning
While attaining vitamin D.
Happiness in Hell
Relies on accepting masochism
As a favor.