DIRECTIONS

In this desert of language
          we find ourselves in,
with the sign-post with the word 'God'
          worn away
                              and the distance ... ?

Pity the simpleton
          with his mouth open crying:
                              How far is it to God?

And the wiseacre says: Where you were,
friend.
          You know the smile
                                        glossy
as the machine that thinks it has outpaced
          belief?
                    I am one of those
who sees from the arms opened
                    to embrace the future
the shadow of the Cross fall
          on the smoothest of surfaces
                    causing me to stumble.