Once in a blue moon, the skyfish appears,
But only to those who go to wander—
And even the wanderers do not see
The glory that is in His great visage.
He first caught my eye after the Spring rain,
When the sweet showers of April sunk in
To combat the drought March brought to the roots.
He was hiding at the edge of my sight
Behind blinding rays of the newborn sun,
But because I chose to shield my gaze
He granted me the knowledge known only
To those who see both the Heavens and Earth.
It was knowledge that no words could describe,
For in all the words that fill my journals
I have chipped away but a small pebble
From a mountain that dwarfs King Everest.
And yet I have been given this sentence,
Which knows no beginning and has no end:
To make His word—that is, the word of God—
Into a word that humans understand.
But with the volumes of books I have writ
More and more people have turned to my cause.
They have found His glory; His clouded scales,
And for the first time, Man has found its peace.
No children cry for their long dead fathers;
No wives waiting for their husband’s return.
There’s no violence against those who are queer—
For to the skyfish we are all mere kelp.
We all live, and breath, and bleed the same way,
Even if not all of us appear green.
But the quiet that fell over the Earth
Is a silence that I have found eerie.
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