The God Particle Poem by Elysabeth Faslund

Of light, dark. Mist and rain,
wondering if neighbors are awake
in this hollow-realmed morning
to see oak, ash, unbroken thorn.

Cretin brother, would you give
one ounce of blood
to idiot sister
spinning hair in loomed tendrils

deep in caves layered in miles
of dark soot, provide shelter
for small, weak, dying animals
at Palenque, Namibia, Brazil.

Morphing slaves depicting coils
of chains, collars, cuffs
erecting empires of shadow people
drinking from cups of Kali, silently.

Two cups: one right, one left
spilling torrents of blood, down to
flood jungles, sand dunes, Balaam.
Do the caves beckon once more

Through timed mists, evolving unshod
slaves pacing centuries into eternity
along stoned paths of sacrifice. Many gods.
Many beliefs. Held over timed stories.