A canister of unused laughter taken from the mouth of a baby not yet born
A splinter of wood from a cross, perfectly preserved in dark tea
taken from the belly of a dead Irishman
A milky vial of smog taken from the air of Los Angeles circa 1965
A lock of hair from the head of a prophet sealed in amber like a mosquito
from the swamp of the La Brea tar pits
One of Vincent van Gogh’s paint brushes with the remains of cerulean blue
still wet on its tip
Unanswered questions from interviews with God
An array of unborn weeds from the red spot of Jupiter
The twinkle of an eye taken from a soldier fallen on Normandy Beach
Things that have yet to occur in a land far, far away
The fingers of someone who couldn’t let go of the rubber bands
wrapped around the newspapers of the future
Still undiscovered:
Why these things were found in the wreckage of an angel
Why this particular angel had fallen
Why that cerulean blue paint has never dried and instead remains open
as though someone expects to go on painting to this day
Was it God’s plans that were found in tatters all around the wreckage?
Was this angel ever trusted to bear the unnatural weight of evidence?
Were these the twisted scales of justice itself
lying to one side as if thrown aside?
And if so, who threw this one out of the heavens?
And exactly how high did he climb before streaking
across the dark side of eternity?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Also a big fan. I think I'm a big fan.