Radish Seeds

 
The Cup of Heaven dried up
When the Creator of the Universe
Lost plural, when God became
A steel-hard abstraction and
The Gods mere lower case mist.

Words acquire substance until they
Transmute from artists' fingers
Pointing toward Life to broken
Crockery all too solid but no
Longer fit to carry anything.

God. Gods. Heaven. The Holy Grail
Weeps poison in my heart,
To cleanse soil of Life where
Meaning has no name, so seeds
Can sprout new radishes and Gods.
 

- Uncle River

to River     /     to Moongate