Evening kisses with God

Where I had assumed, perhaps too comfortably,
that God would talk me off the ledge, I hear Her say,

“I never told you I would talk you off the ledge.
If you want to jump, then jump.
Perhaps you will be a better man for it.
But do not paint me in a light of uncaring.
I know you, I never seared ashtrays or billowed curtains
with someone with your interior.
We all have masks to hide,
exchanging kisses with God doesn’t change that.
And now I have put you in a place to be better prepared
to jump. Rise and fall in your comfortable place.”

If I can still locate the master interior files.
The loose change repair kit kicks at me.
The poor show themselves to me, not expecting me to care.
Every day is a fathom of drilled teeth,
rain passmore spiraling under the waves.
Too much fruit for the gardening feathers,
too much resolution for the youthful inexperienced
disarray of petitioned signage and fame-haunts.

No, no, no, no, push me off the ledge.
I want to fly for the briefest moment
before reticence sets in and carries me home.
I am eager to arrive on that brilliant other
non-collapsing side. Restored and rested.