if you close your eyes to the words but listen only for the music
it moves like a sermon.
if you listen as you would to whispered grass, the joyous buzz of wasps at harvest,
the modest song of sparrows,
there’s rhythm like the best bits in the bible.
it’s a pity that his people are so vociferous
but those solemn intonations –
who taught him that, & does he know? what he’s doing exactly,
the magic he spins.
he merely seems to be, like the docetist says of Jesus,
so he doesn’t suffer, for he’s all god
& nothing human.