I asked John

I asked John

when did you hear

the first trumpet

the first voice

through the open door

did you pause and consider

running back to the cave

the cave atop the island

in the sea

I heard the voice he said

I heard the voice

there was no choice

I walked through the door

to see and hear

be blinded and deafened

so I could see and hear

I asked John

what did you see

A white dove

in a red sky soaring

in expressed light

a twig in its mouth

a twig of deliverance

from the unknown

Photograph by Lydia Woomer via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission. 

The touch of wings

The lion, the ox

the man, the eagle:

four are left, four

from the beginning

or near the beginning.

Four unfurl their wings

until tops are touching,

bare sensations

at nerve endings sounding

with the peal of thunder,

the crackling of the current

of lightning. The sound of wings

touching becomes

deafening.

Photograph by Roland Ally via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Thrones are not a game

Thrones turning slowing

in the air, pivoting on a throne

shining white, blinding white

or blinding light (is there

a difference?) (likely not)

(it’s all blinding white, light).

Blindness of purity

blindness of holiness

blindness of the sacred,

blinding until the eyes adjust

enough to accept

what they see.

Photograph by Vera Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.