If I Were

If I Were

(“For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.” Hebrews 10:14)

If I were to take to the sky, unload the anger,
unleash the whys; what in the clouds would hinder
the upward incline of uncluttered vision.

Blocking my eyes, shading the wounds from
the heat of another burst of flame,
scars never form, but remain lesions of pain;
downward toward rarified slow motion.

Clutching the fire, containing its blasts,
the heart is burned from the inside out.
Stooping in anger, throwing flame and calling it
another blooming flower only
bounces off the ear and leaves the air unbreathable.

If I were to stand above the treeline,
look across the peaks of rugged time,
make my moment last an hour,
drink the thermos slowly like a
doubter
running the truth over his tongue;

If I sat atop the silent apogee; shade
banished with the trees,
and understand the ease with which
You call me perfected; (You call me
easily, You love me painfully);

If I did, if I fly, if I stand, if I sit,
the silence would find the hidden design
You have been creating from before my
attempted climb to labored precision.

Still in gliding, the old wounds riding the wind
and dying; motionless and standing at the apex smiling;
perfection is meant for gods. And God’s perfection
is an inside job I nearly had forgotten.