τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)



The woman wears her skin 

like a bathrobe.

She stands in the middle 

of a golden field,

weeping fresh water. 



This is a story of the first sunrise --- of God's last genesis. 

This is the place where the itinerary of iteration comes to an end. 

This is what fire smells like without smoke. 

This is a catalog of everything for which I have ever prayed. 

This is what happens when you cremate the ghost. 



She stomps her foot. 

Angels rise from everything 

Are they angels? 

Is everything finally itself? 

Is everything finally Good?

 

Yellow Sweater

WA

YWP Alumni Advisor

More by Yellow Sweater

  • The Storm's Eye

    The sky 
    blows in more snow,  

    a breath 
    from frozen elsewhere. 

    There is a storm 
    raging 

    inside the silent rage
    of the storm,

    inside God’s eye, 
    unopened.
     
  • Cubism

    ‘"With your pictures you apparently want to arouse in us a feeling of having to swallow rope or drink kerosene.”
    – Braque to Picasso

    Maybe it’s as simple as this: 
    Maybe God’s hundredth name is His face. 
  • At the Altar

    Oh Lord of Windows, 
    Oh Window, 
    Oh Mirror with Drawn Curtains,  

    maybe if I keep tapping, 
    keep drumming my fingers on your altar, 
    you’ll wake up. Maybe