My Son is a God

(for "Ollie")

My son is a God.
Each day, the faithful,
prostrate at His feet,
make humble and earnest petition.
He could anoint them all
with a single word,
but He is silent
(as all Gods must be)
in the presence of mortals.

He rules the forgotten
edges of the world
with chary eyes,
and cocks His head toward
the sound of distant trains.

He rides the Earth
round the sun
dreaming of shapes
I cannot imagine,
tracing a universe
on bars of golden light
with a tilt of His hand.

We, the penitent,
follow Him
for He carries the universe
wherever He goes.

Like all Gods-
He has little use for men.
Like all Gods-
He is silent to our lamentations
and we can only pretend
to know
what He dreams
or how He dreams
or if He dreams.

I kneel before Him,
my knees dug into the stony ground,
and pretend I hear His voice
in the wind.