Paul’s Conversion

Swept under myself

like a fish. Loosened,

raptured, drowned in

fishnets of light like a 

knife warring against all

my old desires— the fire

of pride in princely temples,

a hand-stitched blue sash, a

bowl of pearls, the sea all glass

in winter, the convergence 

of all things. Empire which I 

wrestle— stones I threw half

way down the ages, the whispers

of sages down my stitched back

and all the audacity which now dims

to black. O Zion O Zion O Zion. 

My knees collapse like glass

to the flame— my name, a sword

fallen before Isaiah’s throne—

my eyes, pearls. Blind me

in the watches of the night

while I make my soul your morning

dew. Unravel my old dreams—

threads thrown into the sea

of your ivory temple. You

shatter me, you horologist, you

Heaven. I fall back down the ages.

Contributed by McGowin Grinstead. McGowin is a senior at Harvard College studying English.