Visitation

Who’s looking into your eyes but God?

Wait for Him to speak; no-one else has been here

Ever. You know your history: the zealots, ardent seers,

Acolytes you've studied craved this audience. Your hot

Hands move headwards, as if to keep the knowledge in,

Fearing a spilt drop would dispel Him now.

He’s taking you apart cell by cell, sin by sin,

You feel Him flicking through your every page for evidence of how

You’ve veered, broken promises, declared false loves. You’ve wished

For so long this most thorough scour. The filth’s accumulated unseen

Year on year, darkening frames, collecting in corners. Now at last you lift

Your chin: eyeball to eyeball. But He’s not here to leave you clean:

He’ll never speak or judge you as your books have said.

One blink, the room is empty; unopened jar of pills still by the bed.