and God said Let there be light
and we stood before the sun
shed the daylight from our selves
and donned dusk

God said Let there be light
and a moth emerged
from my molasses-black chrysalis

God said Let there be light
and we became
our blackest selves

God said Let there be light
and we became our own gods

God said Let there be light
and from the shade we watched
the sky shine her brightest

Let there be light
and day became
seemingly so

Let there be light
and night was never so black

Let there be light
and flesh became skin

and skin became colored

and the light was let in the house

and the cotton rose in the fields

and the master’s tools took shape

and an ocean kept us apart

and the indigo washed the coastline

and blue-black hands worked their fingers to the bone

and the rivers teemed with teeth

and barks ran through the woods

and the days grew darker

and the heavens rose beyond our reach

and God’s absence became apparent

and smoke poured over the mountain’s edge

and the fields filled with fire

and there was light

     Every seventh year you shall practice remission of debts. 
                                    (Deuteronomy 15:1)

How simple it ought to be, to practice compassion 
on someone gone, even love him, long as he’s not 
right there in front of me, for I turned to address him, 
as I do, and saw that no one’s lived in that spot 
for quite some time. O turner-away of prayer—
not much of a God, but he was never meant to be. 
For the seventh time I light him a candle; an entire 
evening and morning it burns; not a light to see 
by, more a reminder of light, a remainder, in a glass 
with a prayer on the label and a bar code from the store. 
How can he go on? He can’t. Then let him pass away; 
he gave what light he could. What more 
will I claim, what debt of grace he doesn’t owe? 
If I forgive him, he is free to go.

I ask you this: 
Which way to go? 
I ask you this: 
Which sin to bear? 
Which crown to put 
Upon my hair? 
I do not know, 
Lord God, 
I do not know.