The Son of Man
“Everything we see hides another thing; we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.” –René Magritte
Five o’clock in the listening room,
autumn. Apples, ripe as poppies,
are dropping from the sky. Outside
beside the balustrade the Son of Man
is not hiding. He is not balding. Hello.
We dance to Philip Glass. (People
think when Jesus said “The Son
of Man” he meant himself. But
we know they’re wrong.) And how
the blind god lies, saying, Ceci
n’est pas une pomme, saying,
Pleasure is here. Take it.
That’s where the blind god’s
got it wrong. That’s where
the Son of Man takes off his mask—
it is not the apple of lust or
temptation. It is just an apple:
core and seed and flesh.