TRICKSTER

With what can we compare the Kingdom of God,
or what parable will we use for it?
   ~Jesus of Nazareth

The pearl, and nothing else:
its silver chain
welded around your neck
catching in the branches,
in your lover’s fingers,
in your hair.

The field:  you’ll have to dig it all up
to find the chest.  Instead of gold,
moldy letters, discarded poems,
photographs of someone else’s kids.
A small bronze bell, a packet of seed.
Underneath, the end of Hope.

Mustard growing thick as trees,
chattering birds,
a mess of nests
and feathers and lime.
Flowers round and huge as suns,
pollen heavy as gold.

A city where no one keeps the rules.
Mansions are emptied
of luxury and filled
with dirt and flowers and bread.
The dead arise and play accordions.
They make things out of wax and clay.
Mice and rabbits are no longer afraid;
the tiger lies down with the lamb.

The inn is filled with guests:
drag queens, lawyers and whores
doing Morris dances and tangos.
Forbidden food and
too much wine.   You
are invited to eat and drink.
You are expected to sing.

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