Parts of Speech

   God is not an interference,
 
some extra object
clotting with dark
among the branches of maples.

Or kicked up with the dust,
mote in an attic beam
of spring-cleaning sun,

or conjured up in the gray
of a man's head.

But in the red
of a woman's womb,
God becomes blood
and muscle and mortar of bone,

the spoken, written conjunction
which fastens maple and beam,
mote and mind, maid and man.

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