The obverse one
The obverse one, welcomed raucously
but aptly at the towering ceremony
gates, who approaches in wide, coy
strides the illumined inner courtyard
where, of course, god is sitting and
smiling politely, reminds me of you
and your by and by untethered mix
of self-effacing irony and fantasy
that, from without, others construe
as faithful love of all life's pleasures.
Isn’t that mad? In my own unhurried
way I begin to notice the tassels
loosed from the banners and sculptures
adorning the floats, in a powerful
winter wind surprising all of us,
when, oddly enough, a subtle spark
of imprecision is observed in god’s
cheek. Maybe it was my imagination,
but wouldn’t that be crucial anyway?
The obverse one, keen on the disruption,
sets up in the form of a patient half-
smile an impregnable phalanx. No one
can tell that he’s apoplectic, least
of all myself who, courting deception,
is so ready to believe in the truth
conveyed by the face. Only when god
gestures towards the obverse one, says
to his ministers something inaudible
do the shielded lips part, revealing
mythological teeth. Ostensibly the wall
between the prophet and his father
weakens, maybe here it admits a sincere
word or two. I thought as much of us
and was I wrong? The ministers relay
the command, covered mouths to cupped
ears, clearing the gangway ascending
the otherwise thronged estrade. But who
could have known that god himself
would be the one to rise from where
he sat to walk the gangway down?
Those steps. Only the fairest trace
of concomitance, as if his whole gait
was composed of a movement of the eyes.
At this the obverse one drops the final
pretense of a smile and lets his muscled
limbs begin to shiver with adrenaline.
I see your nimble feet so vividly, your
tremulous laugh will attend the battle.