On Reading a good Poet

Can I share
the eye of God with him?
His words dance, sliding
they take him. He follows
flying, wings tilt and balance
in the eye-time space
to the beat of a silent tom tom.

I walk, stumbling,
with the rhythm of the
gimp. I lead
dumb words with chicken legs.
They would never
fly by themselves. Can I
share the eye of God with him?
God won't look at all.