The Martingale

And I will always play the martingale.
After the deep sea, the shallows; as
when steward of Eden, I was compelled to let the land lay fallow
after the first blooms fell.
There is now no room between here and heaven
    for what there is to tell, no room at all
    for the stone,
fallen
from God’s hand into bright water,
given into the world, that this life alone now is.

I am no keeper of secrets. This is true: the name that God gifts me
cuts sharp as glass, and burns hot as the last fire of first love burns.

& the unsung word in its standing flame is endless rain
on this empty sea.