The word of the LORD came to me: What do you see, Jeremiah?
            I replied: I see a branch of an almond tree.
            -Jeremiah 1:11

The image is, alone,
Not poetry. An almond branch—
 
Say more. The branch in bloom,
Its petals feather-delicate
 
And white as they bud out
From Jeremiah’s mouth and call
 
Unto Jerusalem, that city
Which is burning and is everywhere—
 
Say more, God says. Show me and show
Jerusalem the almond branch’s
 
Nakedness, the color of its charcoal
When the fire dies. No image is
 
Alone. The almond branch
Flinches against the wind
 
As Jeremiah does against
The hand of God touching
 
His lips. No, Jeremiah,
You are not a boy, not
 
Anymore. You are the almond
Branch you must reveal,
 
And how it smells in every season,
Every breeze. You are the vision
 
That is shown to you of bough
And blossom weighted low
 
With springtime nectar, autumn
Emptiness. Nothing of what
 
You see will be a stranger
To you now. Become the sky
 
Between those leaves, that bruise-blue
Creature God commands you
 
To disclose. A pot spills boiling water
In the orchard’s soil and you are
 
Even the worms that swell
And die within its sudden surplus heat.
 
A branch in bloom, a branch aflame.
God shows you what your poem is.
 
God’s fingers in your mouth:
Of course you are afraid.