White Egret

The whole earth is filled with the love of God. —Kwame Dawes

A stream in a forest and a boy fishing,

heart aflame, head hush, tasting the world—

lick and pant. The Holy Scripture

is animal not book.

I should know, I have smoked

the soul of God, psalm burning

between fingers on an African afternoon.

And how is it that death can open up

an alleluia from the core of a man?

How easily the profound fritters away in words.

And the simple wisdom of my brother:

What you taste with abandon

even God cannot take from you.

All my life, men with blackened insides

have fought to keep

the flutter of a white egret in my chest

from bursting into flight, into glory.