Steve+Miles

Poetry:

Drought Reading Genesis **Bultman in Sandstone** The weather rubs its haunches against orange sandstone, leaving lichen and black iron oxide on the raised stata-lines that scratch the itch in summer rain, and catch the sloughed flakes of January's dry blue skin. The moon shines as it always does, insinuating a metaphor for solitude or redemption. This is how we love-- we breathe, absorbing particulars that are never static, yet this landscape has bumped the same images in others before me. I'd like to make a mark on this paper and leave the rest to the wind. God, says Bultman, cannot be subject to the confines of existence. Therefore we don't say "God exists," but rather "God is existence." Just add the //to be// verb, and suddenly the sum is dizzying. The mind unravels far past the moon. Nighthawks sift through all of this, never knowing doubt.