God is whatever makes us better

Salvation

 It’s the weirdest thing, 

to be in love with a woman. 

Nothing else matters. 

Even that campy hate scorn is 

rick rack on a little black dress — 

you kidding me? 

Your woman is a body of miracle fiber, 

a tote accommodating 

a change of clothes and good shampoo, 

a heated embrace, an epicenter 

a little sun next to you 

preparing you for your dangerous salvation.

 You have to find a way 

and a sherpa anxious to 

shake out, lean over, 

anchor raw minerals 

on the four directions, 

the four elements, 

the nonrefundable missteps.

 God is whatever makes us better. 

Who’s seen Her, besides 

          William Blake 

          and ten million mothers. 

Do they agree how shining her hair is 

or that her voice is the unified theory 

of everything arranged for strings?

 The idea is to be led to something 

          that is not you. 

If it is the solar system in your arms, 

          pinging you, well, that works. 

_______

®2015. Sarah Sarai, Ping-Pong, Literary Journal of the Henry Miller Library, 2014.