by Matthew Shenoda
It is less about the opaqueness of the sky
and more the subtle alluvion of snowfall.
We are reminded that distance is as near
as memory.
The ox yoke always a twinning
a mirror of itself.
The thundering voice
of unraveling
a full body exaltation÷
salted with the dust of earth.
We have been made to shrink
to shed our circumstances for an idea.
The corporeal marketed in a way unimaginable
the mind affixed in its own terrarium.
When the four incorporeal creatures
make their way to this earth
the lion, the calf, the man, and the eagle
how do they decipher beast from human?
“Who was, and is, and is to come”
we take our chance at seeing again.
From horizon to sea shore
the earth tilts on high
magnifying its glory
and bringing us to our feet.
We chant in the order of Melchizedek.
We watch the islands recede.
We call upon the Spirit
and sing our way back home.
Poem copyright 2020 by Matthew Shenoda. All rights reserved.
See more poems from Matthew Shenoda debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Refuge” and “Local”
Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt