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NOT LIKE A MOON ROCK BUT MORE LIKE THE PALM OF YOUR HAND

Not like a moon rock, but more like the palm of your hand. Not like
religion, but more like tradition.  Not one, not two, not scrap the whole plan
and start over again. If we have salvation, it has arrived.
Not from a beaker, not from a spark, but of this place
in which we already are living. A gentle crevice in the plain
that is sated not by flood (the floods are gone) but by a cup.
The dust of the earth, the rib of a man, corporeal exhalation.
Our deliverance has arrived, it was already here.

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