We found the home of God but yesterday.
A distant quiet star had murmured. This
was all we needed: come and follow, child!
We pointed rockets at the inky heart
of heaven’s void—that ghastly Firmament
—and prayed they wouldn’t fail to find their mark.
Would that we missed.
We did not contemplate, in our hubris,
that staring face to face with God might yield
attention. Wakened from a sleep outside
of time, God stared at us, and weighed our worth,
and ripped our galaxy apart with such
delight that we could not deny our God’s
humanity.
We stared upon the tentacles of God.
What else to call a creature, bound by none
of physics’ rules? Its smile might weigh a ton,
if teeth it had within its gaping maw,
and lurid puckered wings became a host
of voices, angels’ chorus, out of tune
and all as one.
 |
Brian Hugenbruch is the author of more than seventy speculative fiction stories and poems. His most recent chapbook, While Changing Lanes, is available from Bottlecap Press. You can find him online at https://the-lettersea.com, and on social media under a similar handle. No, he’s not certain how to say his last name either. | |