the arrangement of God
John Chrysostom preaches jazz—
I stay up all night to hear it,
see it—fire raining outside
moussaka diner Eucharists,
eyeing out eternity in intimate,
bright-eyed company,
seeking, like Lazarus’ dogs,
to lick away wounds,
peel back the sores
scarring the world’s dermal divinity.
Until we see it:
a love-encrusted world,
and we are baked in it.