Obliteration
when God is finished with His oils and lays
His brush away, i hope He searches for
my portrait in the nearly countless bays
of storage where His grand conservator,
His memory, has stowed it. then i want
the picture to be scrubbed as clean as clean
can be. i wish for Him to leave just blunt,
defeatured canvas in the frame. i mean
i want to be erased completely so
that no one living in eternal joy,
and least of all Jehovah—no saint, no
smug angel—can recall that white-blond boy.
destroy the whole depiction, if You can.
wipe out imago Dei in this man.
