Cutting Through Untruths

All Gods are the same God when you look deep enough
and when he spoke Enid remembered those late
college nights when sleepiness weighed her eyelids
drowsiness a perfume smoking up the air
when in the quiet she suddenly forgot
if she were speaking or if her roommate were speaking
one of them pulling takeout noodles into her mouth
each boundary collapsed into disoriented
consciousness taking in sensation without wakefulness
the feel of fabric against skin was not her own
nor was the curve of breast and collarbone
or the taste of the food as she did not chew
They are like light in a prism, facets of a diamond
but the light those nights could cut crystal
and it teared her eyes that strained to study
what if the sameness is illusion there, too
a sage awake suddenly to what is beyond being
still drowsy sweating through this fever of becoming
not yet accustomed to eternal song and light
nor drawn tight to identity and identification
Being attached to a form of God prevents the ascent
well, yes — but identity persists through instances
she dreamt one night she caught Proteus
and there were other Gods watching as she
grasped his wrists tight, pushed him against the rocks
while the sea ebbed and flowed around them
her grip persisting through his changes of form
she cannot remember what she asked for
or why he was held or if he was in fact holding her
as if the fatigue of life had spilled into restoration
but the feel of other Gods’ eyes staring awoke her
where she slept with her head on a calculator
a paper beneath it repeating the same problem
six times, the night rendering math incantation
the empty takeout boxes littering the floor
and dawn tiptoeing beneath the roller shade


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