Sarah French: ghost writing

Lapsed vegetarian, lapsed Jew
we connect at absurd points
(one discreet eater of bacon to another)
memory like the old story
about the blind men & the elephant
each groping for proof
you will insist on your version
how you sang Lara's Theme
till your ribs cracked.

You persist by remembering
the story you tell like an alibi
trying to reconstruct an atmosphere
out of air wearing thin. I did not
forget my God. My God
forgot me.

When your God writes, his medium
is fire-no one can erase it.
& that's what you want, a story
whole, indestructible, Mr. Spielberg
on your doorstep, the reverse eclipse
of flash bulbs in the dark
applause to eat silence.