there is no language for God.

always we came closest to mystery

when we cut the cord that held the head

of the flower to the sun.

the best of things did not glimmer & sing.

they dissolved; unordered by laws that had me

queue to pay the gas bill, queue for stewing steak,

or queue to read the comic strip of the voting booth.

my politics were chewed figs.

everything i read was over-inked.

my love unabashed with cliché,

i was confident as needles.

go to my funeral & eat cake.

turn the lights down.

i thrill into nowhere now.

Eugene O’Hare was shortlisted by the poet Billy Collins for the 2022 Fish Publishing Prize. Recent poems have appeared in a range of American and European magazines.