Sometimes Pure Faith

Sometimes pure faith
Cannot find its foundation
In the soil of the soul
And its rigmarole

That lies baked in the flesh
In the lines of imagination,
In illusion and sight,
Deception and night,

As though we are fed
By the mind’s meditation
While the limbs remain
Unredeemed and profane.

The body and soul
Spit vituperation,
Destroy and war
In hair-clutching furor.

At that time, release
Beyond recrimination
Is faith that contains
Rivers and lanes,

Whose sky roads receive
Purification,
Whose soil, whose roots,
Whose crawling shoots,

Whose visions and yearning,
Whose hot imagination
Rise, though blind,
To brightness of mind,

A blazing white fire,
A swift cerebration,
A thought beyond thought
Of knowledge untaught.

In slavery, faith
Is the reverberation
Of God and deed,
Of wordless creed.