Moses, Saint Francis, Saint Teresa
…..
Gods used to come. We felt a sudden gust.
A moment came, somewhere, somehow, at dawn
Or in the twilight. Daybreak caused a thrust
Of deepest recognition, then withdrawn.
A twilight apparition might remain
A fraction longer like a sacred ghost
Shape near the lung. It might deposit stain
Or shadow, even brightness like a boast
From angel throat, but barely, briefly, with
The faintest aftermath of love removed.
It came more forcefully than word or myth
And left a tiny slice with nothing proved,
A slice between the ribs, or more a splice
Perhaps, but not of blood warmth. More like ice.