Bone and other stories

In my country, there was
A kind of Christian talk
Of when God called Isaiah to be a prophet. He had a
Fire at work within his heart.
Claustrophobia for the bluest
Skies thread and spool.
We're all servants to the
Role of the mother or the role of the father
In one way or the other.
The half-life of our soul

Blue, innocent and fragile.
Digging for the heavenly
Orders glacial and fertile.
Hoping it will teach us.
In my country there was
No Job. No doubting Thomas.
Only this. That perhaps we all should
Fade away to wise-everything.
If we took the time to read everything
We could lay our hands on.