Camels passed through the eye of that heron-shaped needle
And countless rich men passed through the gates of heaven
And hyperbole is not actionable according to the managing editor
And Jesus laughed

As one heron emerged through the swirling mystery
Of morning, neither mild nor cold, in November
Just a few silent feet away from me
And he stared at me as if he owned this royal property
And might forgive my trespasses.

I stood still for two thousand years
And the sun did not rise that morning
And the swirl of mist did not evaporate.

And then the bird blinked
And with some slight effort of the body that
Had nothing at all to do with the eyes
That heron spread its wings and by some magic

Gathered the four corners of the mist into himself
Lifted the dull gloom and left me here today
In broad daylight having sold everything I owned
And ready to follow

And Jesus laughed.