The Problem with Theology

The problem with theology
Is that I do not know
I should feel bad
About killing that family of rats
With a shovel.
— —
We have forgotten
What happens
When I get this way.
These are not traditions;
These are only habits.
— —
What do I hold
In my mind,
As I hold my shovel:
A garden,
With weeds to pull—
Storage to be protected
Or blind infants
With flaccid skin?
— —
For now, the rats and I
Know each other
Through my shovel,
Through our compost,
Through the fine mesh
I nail over the holes
They gnaw into our home.
— —
We look through another
Toward absolutes
And launch into oblivion.
To leave orbit
Is to leave
So much more.
That is the only real end.

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