Thanatosis

I found God circling

the pilings of solar panels in

my high school parking lot,

a dragonfly frozen in his nail-

pierced palm.

“Just playing dead.”

He said, and went back

up in a cloud of forgetting,

for a nap,

for it was Saturday.

The seventh day

I’ve crossed the mile-

high ridge of this valley

only to look back

and lose myself in the grid

of yesterday. Only

one summer ago,

I was resurrecting

with the tree frogs

and the possums.

If Jesus’ feet touched

that pavement, is it now holy?

If the only land we leave flat

anymore is for

graveyards and parking lots,

did we make them holy ourselves?