Devil’s Lake

The animal comes to the water in moonlight.

I have seen this. And I didn’t believe

it meant nothing. This thirst. How anything

suffices for the damned. Have mercy,

the rich man said, for I am tormented

in this flame. But God refused. I hope

I am not rich, though it must depend on parity.…

In this story I am a wanderer. God

is the moon, a tiny reflection in the sky.

And I am alone watching the animal

come to the water in moonlight. It isn’t fox,

raccoon, deer, or dog. I can see its face clearly,

and it is mine. Its face is my face. It looks

when I look. I don’t expect you to believe this.

Not even one returned from the dead could convince

you, God said, if you haven’t believed by now.

This is only a story of water.

I have been baptized in many rivers.

I have sung songs about washing myself

in the blood of the lamb. But this isn’t like that.

This isn’t a new man rising from the old.

I have delayed the comforts in this life for those

in the next. And to what great reception

have I come? There is a lie I used to believe

about meaning. That we were meant to end

misery. I have tried. I once found a half-dead

bird and beat it into the ground with a shovel.

But it stayed alive. I left it there

but it would not leave me. And so in this story

I am two animals. The one coming

to the water for drink, and the one watching.