Philip C. Kolin (bio)

In spheres, orbs, and gyres
God fingerprints His presence.
Even in absence He paints new moons.
Everything comes in O's, and nothing,
From the one who never runs out of numbers.

The faithless live in dark holes,
Captives stuffing their pouches
With nothing:
The shame of Sodom
The curse of Onan
The vanity of Edom
While God writes the fullness of history
In endless circles, Omega's door
Opening and closing in a curved room.

Jacob's hire spotted, penned for glory.
His children, his children's children,
Drink sunlight from gold goblets.
In an echoing cave the prophet priest
Wears an amulet of God's whispers,
Word after word swirling O rings of smoke.
Generation after generation turns
Westward on its pilgrimage East.
He gives us showbread in rounds of hosannas,
Our O Antiphons hungering,
Waiting for what is already ours.



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