In a land stripped of trees & proverbs
God must speak through clichés:
some more clearly than others, such as
the infant left in a lavatory trashcan
or found unscathed in the after-
math of some calamity,
a face appearing to millions who sit
alone in darkened rooms
eating from styrofoam boxes with
the TV on for company when
again the network plays
its miraculous footage—
an infant like any other,
mouth open in a scream,
eyes shut tight & a tiny fist
shaking, shaking.
