We are not surprised,
those of us who are made,
we’ve been told,
in God’s image,
that our God, who has
not tissue nor tail,

is a jealous God.
What makes us
snappish, after all, about God
is impeccability but

if jealousy makes us
also Godlike—and if that’s
where our love turned wrong—

then there we might commune—
light with light, loss with loss—
on the strict and ruined earth

someone gets the very thing

He longs for—and who
will let him? Lord I’m
desolate enough—
I see the fire

starving on a switch
after all of those years

making for him
myself into a forest.