He lives at the center of the universe
twenty miles north of Dayton, Ohio

or Yuma, Arizona. No one's sure.
He could be living next door.

He's a hard pea. His needs are few.
His father's dead, but he does have

a Holy Spirit—the last tiny breath
of each person dying now/now/now.

Mr. Pea travels eyeball to eyeball.
He never dies himself. Just keeps

getting harder and harder. Still
pretty green, but I wouldn't call it

a miracle. You can worship Mr. Pea
in the privacy of your own home.

Mr. Pea doesn't take up collections.
We all got a little piece of Mr. Pea

inside us. You can decide yourself
how it got there.

Mr. Pea had a feather once.
Any feather could be that feather.