Godd’s Voice

Knotted up,
Every limb twists and moulds,
Melds into a distance,
Asking –
Why hear your voice at all?

Does it matter –
That it changes pitch?
Its gravel ditches lengthen, broaden – hum,

And all that’s left in common 
Becomes words –
Perfect verses, lightly naughtied
Shiny promises
Dirtied beacons once close
To hope

And never more than these
One-way tickets to the moon,
Disco flickers
In night sky,
Glittering portals,
A glimpse promised within reach

As it probably is.
When only a god makes these promises –
The ones he couldn’t keep.