“Your mind will muse on terror… your eyes will see a quiet habitation”
from “Hermeneutics” by Kerri Webster
All winter she’s been growing more powerful.
Radiant, says the man at the bar.
Voluptuous, says the docent.
Nervy, says God.
All winter her soul has been juddering.
It feels like drinking gold flakes!
The word sleeps inside the stone.
The wind tongues the underside of the lake.
Inside the rifle scope of time, God
teaches her Grounding Techniques
through his emissary, a Certified Therapist.
Beetles bore their dirty traffic into pine trees.
God says, You cling to deixis
like a life raft. Here, you
say. Now, you say. All winter, you say, like it means
something, days crossed off your compulsive
calendar, wind tied to your wrist like
a pet. This dumb hunger for
fixity! I made your cells
to shed, says God. See them