If I Were a Poet

The sky splits open,
red seeds of pomegranate reality
spill into a world
that turns out to be not real at all.
A voice like thunder announces
time’s up,
game’s over,
we’re going home now.

Old man walking to market
falls down as though dead
and learns to pray.

Rich man counting his money
curses the numbers
as arithmetic no longer works.

Happy man is sad.
Sad man is sadder.
Dying man tries to die
but can’t.

Children in a field,
laughing, tumbling,
look up with pure joy,
not surprised at all
by the sweet juicy pieces of heaven
raining down, down
from a hidden place
they always knew was there.