When we return to poetry and myth and music
and put reason and intelligence in their proper place
which is to say a seat of limited honor and humbled praise
then we might be ready to listen to this Jesus strophe:
Knock, and the door will be opened.
Everyone who asks, receives.
Search, and you will find.
Persistence will be met with mercy.
But you stand there with your bloody rapping knuckles
and wonder what to do with shuttered doors and detours
because your tumor is growing apace with the calendar
your brimming pantry no longer satisfies anyone’s nourishment
So you stop tapping and asking and searching
persistence gives way to the power of pain
like Abraham you give up the bargaining just short of total clemency
you think you got all the universe had to offer and you’re done
But you’ll always wonder, won’t you, what absurd blessing would come
if you had knocked one more time with red bandages and waited
if you had kept questing beyond the rift of data with a run and a jump
and let holy imagination compose your future with verse, metaphor, and melody