a pagan god

He had a pagan, earthy god.
I could tell by the lowercase g.
This god that showed up
through the telephone was a jubilant god.

A festive god that brought me
to relish the future of gods,
to think that the gods died once
but were back to make the earth dance.

A small god but still creator,
flute-playing, sober yet surrounded
by the dripping wine and honey,
the sticky love-juices, a god serene in orgy.

It was no insult to his stature,
that lowercase g, no, it gave him over
to earth and earthly things, even
through the wires, towers, and satellites.

This inconspicuous little god is a giver
to lovers and to what’s stranger
than lovers’ bonding, to a bond
that unites strangeness with love.

Perfect god for a godless time,
when the gods have long fled,
leaving stale shadows, perfect god
for these times, his small demand.

His small yet hearty demand to dance,
to frolic like so many earthly things do
even in the face of impending
disaster, even when suspended above the abyss.