1492

by Will Monigold

God’s eye
Has traced these lines
When they were made
Men were young
Gifted, perhaps
Certainly lucky
It was not prayer
It was trinkets
Blankets of
Death
Victims of greed
Say you now
God’s eye
The page shifts
The needle turns
The stars didn’t teach us
How to lie
God did
Speak to me
Man
Tell me what gifts
Have you stolen