I could replace
God for awhile, that old ring of candles,
that owl’s wing brushing the dew
off my grass hair.
If bended knee calls up
a god, if the imagination of idol
calls up a god, if melting
of heart or what was written as
bowels but has to do
                                 not with shit but with salutation of
                                 somber beauty in what is mortal,
calls up a god by recognition and power of
longing, then in my forest
God is replaced awhile,
awhile I can turn from that slow embrace
to worship mortal, the summoned
god who has speech, who has wit
to wreathe all words, who laughs
wrapped in sad pelt and without hope of heaven,
who makes a music turns the heads
of all beasts
as mine turns, dream-hill grass
standing on end at echo even.