Let your eyes write
new tears for a pilgrimage
to a place you cannot see.

But wait
for the thick darkness.
That is when he will call

for you.
Till then quiver your soul.
Forget about being

in his image.
You will only be looking
into a blindfolded mirror.

He lives in infinity, and his voice is
an octave higher than silence.
His words thrum

through the clouds.
He whispers fire and speaks
in endless vowels.

He comes with a river bird
asperging feathers.
Pray for the sky that absorbs

evaporating continents
and black-plumed sins.
As his train goes by,

you realize you do not
have to wear
your body anymore.

This article appears in October 16 2017.

Philip C. Kolin is the distinguished professor of English emeritus and editor emeritus of the Southern Quarterly at the University of Southern Mississippi. He has published more than 40 books, including nine collections of poems, the most recent being Reaching Forever: Poems.