Jumpers

I believe in the world as much as I can,

but I’m tired, I’m tired in my very bones

of the deafening silence all around us,

like the way when someone’s poised

to jump off a building, cops and

crowds and megaphones gather

in a frenzy of people 

trying to save them -

but when a young boy’s 

selling dope for a cartel,

when veterans are sprawled 

begging on sidewalks,

when girls barely older than 18

sell themselves in the streets,

when gay kids are convinced

this world wasn’t meant for them,

there are no megaphones,

there are no crowds,

and when the cops come

their desperation is a called a crime,

or a tragedy, or a suicide.

There are so many different ways

we kill ourselves, and I wish

this world was more like the street

below a jumper on a rooftop,

booming with voices loud with love

and the promise that the world

wishes we would step back from the ledge.

Confession

I interviewed God

in my dreams last night.

I asked him about Eden.

He shrugged, and said, 
“I should’ve had a backup plan.”

When I asked him to pick

his favorite creation 

he paused, then said, “Gravity,

because it’s invisible but

beautiful because

it never gets tired of 

holding everything together.”

He leaned forward

with his head in his hands

and sighed. 
“Love was the best idea I ever had,

but I must’ve miscalculated.

It’s too volatile, y'see.

Some people just can’t handle it.”

That’s when I woke up

and remembered 

I don’t believe in God.

But before the fog of sleep

lifted with the sunrise, 

I was sure I could believe 

in that weary man

whose tired eyes confessed

that even his best miracle 
can be a burden.