the man drove
by in an old white
ford pickup and
a broken beard.
the sun was
behind me so
i could look
directly at him.
when he looked
my way all
he saw was
the nothingness of
brilliance.
his eyes
shaded, and
his beard
broken.
to the lay person
it seems his beard is
neatly trimmed,
but i, with the sun
at my back
allowing me an
unbroken stare,
i can see that
the trimmed beard
is false
in its appearance.
those hairs have been
annihilated, each one
splintered
in their shearing.
i keep a star
at my back
so i can hide
in brilliance.
no one can see,
despite the mirrors
we hang upon
our eyes,
the star at my back
always swallowing us
in its nothingness.
i put holes in my ears
many years ago;
to fill them with
stones
to catch the light;
to let the light
through, when they are
empty.
the star at my back
is worshipped for its
nothingness. i keep it
at my back
so i can watch
people in their rapture.
zakschafer.com 