I’ve learned to love a blade’s edge…
I am nobody and somebody
with nowhere to go: the border between
Manhattan’s East and West Streets
ground and stone
reason and faith
mother and father,
the Father and the Son.

I’m the Holy Spirit, the shadow always
mediating between phrases “Serve me” and “Agape”…
I am this sentence. I want you, for this moment; this sliver
between life and death, this Mississippi cutting through
a continent. I was in Adam, after his expulsion:

Let the green apple be lodged in my throat
while washed in the image of Eden
before I leave, so in cursing my fate
and love what is…

Sharp and dangerous, always ready to use conscience
and **** according to judgment,
the thrill, the second where happiness
and sadness is satisfaction, I am there.

Nothing ever gets done without me.
I am a peninsula, imparting
land to waters and seas
divinity to mortality:
Pentecostal.

The blade’s edge ready to cut and be cut.
In the name of the Father and the Son
and me
Amen…
Go to heaven
if you cannot accept hell.
Go to hell if you cannot accept heaven.
As any mediator, I am a nation
unto myself, my fate, my exile.