Lines

The lightning struck him and left a scar.

The wind stopped blowing and the wheat stood up.

Self-tensed self, who is this I that says I ?

I had a scar in the shape of  lightning

That split in half when I opened my mouth.

The sun  just a circle of  heat in the sky

Throwing absence in the shape of clouds

Down on the field. Another life placed

In the middle of  the life I called my own.

A lesser god commanded the front: return.

A little god knocked about in the germ.

The third person put me outside my own sphere.

A small god chanting lightning in the synapse.

Wind blows the wheat down. He calls it prayer.