Temporary

I speak to the sky in whispers too silent to listen to otherwise...

A table of old philosophers dining with God
turn their ears to the earth, their necks twisted
wonderfully about their shoulders like serpents.

They listen to my whispers in complete silence
save one last scraping knife against a plate.

An argument erupts over the question I've asked
and they've resorted to fists and God laughs and says:

"What is will without willing to a man without will
or a man unwilling to wait willingly"

The argument ceases as they ponder God's question
in complete silence until they begin to fight again over
the meanings of the word and not the others.

I repeat myself one last time in my silent whisper to the sky

And the twisted necks of old serpents retract and turn to
philosophy and then turn to God, then back on each other...