Starting now, I’ll do everything

                                          as if I were a god.

I’ll walk from a dark room

                                   as a god walks from a dark room.


I’ll speak to strangers

                                as a god speaks to strangers.

When it’s time to say something important


I’ll rise from my chair like a god would

and speak in my


                          celestial certitudes.


There will be no more

                                lap-sitting, no more stories

about when I was a bar-back or a ferryman


or a farrier. There will be

                                   fewer hours spent

tuning my piano,

                       and patting my hunting dogs,

or remembering

                      my youth. When I need you to hurt


I’ll put you to sleep as a god puts you to sleep,


I’ll play my discordant harp as a god plays a harp,

and the effects will be the same.


The noise of the bramble

                                   never leaves me.

I bless the cedar. The months go by. I bless your saw.


When you need

                       me to hurt, I’ll dim in the linden leaves,

I’ll hide in the fire-scarred hills,

                                          and the great guards

of my gilded name

                         will circle around to protect me.

And you’ll be there.

                          And I’ll know your name


as a god knows your name,

                                        as a father knows your name,

but you won’t recognize me.