for Tom Cheetham
In the desert where God grew a goddess,
a snake, a devil, temptation and time
to think, I found a clay pot containing
knowledge of more than me and
space to contain it.
The clay pot wasn’t for sale
so I stole it. The world is worth
a broken tablet.
Jinns were sealed in the clay pot
containing knowledge of more than me,
swapped wars and stories of them,
of my wishes until finding
Arabia where God was born
and God born in Arabia.
Knowledge of more than me burned,
pale Einstein at the beach.
Invisible faith was a bouquet,
many stanzas, sandals, tribes
with goats and customs, gifts
to give us love of a lifespan.
Invisible faith was in the clay pot.
Knowledge of more than me was
in the clay pot. Women dancing
and jugs of wine for poets,
bronze urns of tea for poets.
The three great rivers flowed from
the clay pot containing
knowledge of more than me in the world.
Their waters sang with springs,
bedded worms with soil.
Invisible faith, the clay pot, jinns’ stories,
and bebop. Cab Calloway was in the clay pot
containing knowledge of more than me
in the world, and not alone.
This is my offering.
Here is what a soul of invisible faith will need:
flowing waters and a little music.
The God born in Arabia’s got a grand voice,