Vestment Redux (Poem)

I posted an earlier version of this poem on April 11th, but after posting, I went back to the drawing board because just the act of taking it public made me rethink what I'd done. I don't know if this is really much better, but I tried to tie the images together more, to make it, maybe, a little more accessible.

So after much ado about nothing...

* * * *

Vestment

And he that sat on the cloud
thrust in his sickle on the earth;
and the earth was reaped.

-Revelation 14:16

Enclosed find your copy of the long white cloud, its golden crown buffed, spires (sickle-like) curved and ready to reap. Consider it your airline ticket; your liahona; your bicycle. Dress it how you will, though cumulus fit best in white shirts (wash and wear, wrinkle-free) and a suit (traditional style and cut, conservative, black, dark gray, blue, or brown, no baggy or pegged pants) or slacks (not extreme or faddish or casual, not baggy or pegged), girdled with a belt to keep adolescent winds from pantsing it, from dumping a peep show in the world’s cup of tea. Add a tie (no extreme or faddish patterns), dark socks, and dress shoes. Now knead yourself into ether, your fingers like the fingers of Doré’s sun, sifting marrow until they feel soil part, feel the fern press its head through mist then flatten against sudden emptiness; until you can roam the sky without tripping on the hem of your righteousness, can cloak the world in light without singeing every shadow to ash, without blinding yourself as you trace the cloudfire to dusk.