Beholden to your eyes to tell the truth.
If seeing is believing, then God has been painted gold
And caught midstep yawning in New Orleans.
Blink again, and a nostril flares,
A stray hair needles into the sky.
A dollar bill falls into the cup at his feet; a camera flashes,
The sound like chewing gum smacked between teeth.
Bright arms land at his side like birds;
Somebody yells: Get a real job!
We are all witness to something of the second coming
In those slumped shoulders smoldering with light.
When we shake hands, He calls me brother and leaves gold
Glinting off my skin like flames seething to ash.