A Big Sleep
Feeling a pang,
God looked down at His body:
tiny creatures,
His own creations!
were carrying off bits of Him
to sequester in their burrows,
to consume,
thereby partaking of His godhood,
to exalt and worship,
to rub against their bodies,
perhaps to use in other ways.
Millions of them,
for countless mayfly generations,
had plundered Him as He slept;
He saw His endoskeleton,
nakedly exposed,
shining;
His organs of alimentation,
of pleasure,
had been partially removed.
Trying to stand,
He realized He could not,
and now perceiving an industrious column,
entering one organ of audition,
leaving via another,
He felt His thoughts mixing,
slipping away;
the last running like water
from a pitcher:
I was, I am ... what?
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