by Ken Hines
God is like a poet, Kierkegaard once said to
the confessor’s ear of his journal, turning the universe itself
into a glorious poem, still unfinished after 14.5 billion
years as the author awaits the next creative eruption,
hoping he can top the delicious irony that
atoms in your thumbnails are also the stuff of stars,
which makes you kinsman to the heroic shapes staring down
on you as you take out the garbage Monday nights. Imagine
doing all of this without words or punctuation, instead fashioning
it from an alphabet of earthquake, avalanche and flood, figuring
the audience will pick up on your near rhyme of love and grave,
will see that all there is is in the poem, including the reader
who feels changed somehow, the way daring poems often leave you.
Poems by KEN HINES have appeared in Mocking Heart Review, AIOTB, The Ekphrastic Review, and Amethyst Review. He is winner of the Third Wednesday Journal Annual Poetry Prize and a Best of the Net nominee. His essay series on capitalism and Christianity ran in Barrelhouse, The Millions, Pendora, Philosophy Now. All this scribbling takes place in Richmond, Virginia.
Photo: “Galaxy” by Bernd Thaller