THE ASCENSION OF CHRIST by ERCOLE SETTI (Modena, 1530-1618)

When he had led them out to the vicinity of Bethany, he lifted up his hands and blessed them. While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up into heaven. Then they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy. And they stayed continually at the temple, praising God.

Luke 24:50-53

SQUIGGLES

He steps on air, transported, mad 
like a dancing maenad,  
cross-legged,  
arms spread, 
(one hand touching the burned  
edge of space), his abandonment   
exposing him— 
nipples,  
bellybutton,  
loins,
the plump pubis.  

Billowing, a drape barely  
holds onto him.   

Below are the soldiers, slumbering,  
heavy, 
in tensed contortions,  
struggling to wake.  

They wear armor with bulbous helmets  
that look like penises.   

Surprise beats at them. 

God, as usual, is nowhere to be seen. 

He could be watching the spectacle. 
He could be amused or moved to tears. 
He could be feigning indifference, just to see 
what happens. 
Or be impervious, as he already knows 
what will follow and why.  

Or, wearing a painter's beret, he maybe chooses  
to draw the scene,  
to confine his talent to that of Ercole Setti, 
suggesting perspective and volume not  
by cross-hatching but by using patches of gray, 
by flurrying his squiggles, which will go unmatched  
(but also unnoticed) until the end of time.  

The chances are that it is he writing this,  
wiggling my good feeling of finding a word,  
then sinking the emotion that no,  
it is all in my head, nobody else's, and that  
it will die there with me.  

Propping the secret belief (that feels like revenge)  
that free will is true and indifferent, even despising  
of deeds. 

—Stefan Balan