The Thirty Six Are Hidden

Almost A Great Funeral

On the sacred balance sheet something had to be corrected
a repair in the cosmic loam
an indignity done in the realm of memory, spirit
where God and soul
the mystery quantities
calculate in a Zoroastrian tug for the heart of the world.
As if the world turns on these corrections [which it does]
spins right around on the axis of Peter.

We buried Peter last week.

At one point I felt loaded into the catapult
and hurled into the sky where I exploded into a thousand sparks
light into light
drifting back to ground like Chinese fireworks.

There are so few of these moments nowadays.

When Peter died, I dreamed he could have saved the world
[his ruthlessness saving souls]
he went to the edge with people because he had been there himself
snatched them back as he had been
as if he made the necessary repairs
as if he were the true person of compassion
we have been waiting for every night to renew the next day
then the question: what if there are not enough of them
what then?
How many true persons of compassion does it take?

For a few minutes remembering Peter,
I felt him generous and vulnerable.
That’s when I took off, shot up into the overhead air and dissipated into the wind
around his grave.
If the priest had spent five minutes listening to his story
he could have taken the whole crowd there
gone with us anyway.

If the holy man had understood
how Peter restored himself and dozens of others
we could have explained to him that Peter might have cleaned up
all the mess
through the first person he snatched back
for to save one person is to save an entire world.

What a shame to have missed the whole story
when even a part of it
one person
one of many Peter saved
could have redeemed all of us.

jsg, usa