The colors of sea and sky
And dressed it in cowrie shells and feathers
From the sea and sky, it melted
In the rain and cracked in the sun, and he lost it
Somewhere among palm trees. So he carved his god
Again out of hard wood,
A seated god still light enough
To carry through the long day and by firelight
And into sleep till sunrise
Without melting. Though he put flowers
On each side of its head, his god could hear
Nothing with them and let the people die,
Let his mother and father die and his wife die
And his children sicken and die,
So he made another god out of stone
With shut eyes weeping, whose tears
As they fell were slowly changing
Into stone people, being born
While falling and laughing and lying
Around its feet, and his god was lifting them up
In both of its stone hands and eating them.
DON BOGEN
Give
It
Back
Give it back-I made it all up
That alcove where surplus glowed under dust
Unfinished, an attic space with nails poking down
Khaki of sheet metal, orange flickering in tubes
Ephemeral as the smells, which were plywood, solder and Kents
Color words, smell words-I put them in a book
Everything there is still missing
Two lies of remembrance: it was always winter
Things could speak
