He Is Everywhere & You May Not See Him
Photo by birkaybolushikayesi on Pexels
A Poem by Brandon Shane
Walking an empty street, midnight blues,
my father had gone, emergency room sunk
into the dark matter of brown eyes,
thinking God has been dissolved
with the last of my parents,
visiting my mother in Green Hills
you would think she was still alive,
her music recorded in my stylish dance,
feeling divinity before recognizing
it was his hand on my shoulder.
I shoveled sand back into the ocean,
and walked where rocks became mountains,
my sadness rising to seagull clouds,
overcome with their porcelain design,
I thought Christ had long descended
with the last of the peacocks and finches,
another muse for Autumn leaves
climbing back to their branches.
God spoke to me
through the listlessness of liquor
stagnant in evanescent bottles,
the wonder of a crescent moon
resting shadows on oil rigs,
patience of unlit candles
and coffee grinds.
Know me not through death
Nor suffering
But the love of carrying on
I put it all down,
every match that would light
his forsworn temple;
We sat beside a sycamore tree
and I did not ask him about the universe,
or the inner workings of heaven,
but watched rain glisten the fur of deer,
fawns nestling their heads against dewy grass,
and listened to blue jays, hummingbird chance,
knowing the gospel in their songs
before picking up scripture.
Looking back now,
there was nothing else,
only his light,
the mourners went home,
and he was still there;
a star guiding restless ocean nights,
sailing without lantern or compass.
Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturist born in Yokosuka, Japan. You can find his work in trampset, Argyle Literary Magazine, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Sage Cigarettes Magazine, Dark Winter Lit, Poetry as Promised, The Mersey Review, and Prairie Home Mag, among many others. He graduated from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English.
