 |
| (Gandhi Museum, Delhi, India) |
God comes
like a prairie dog, popping up--
alert, curious-- and disappearing again.
God comes
like a cherry blossom, unfolding pink and delicate in fragrance and flower;
giving way to leaf and stem, fruit and stone.
God comes
as mist, gently rising and
like a thunderstorm, all crash and fury.
God comes
like a raft
with water all around, and shore nowhere to be seen.
God comes
in the peace of prayer
and when we scream and cry in frustration and agony.
God comes
on a guitar string; from within a test tube; in the flight of a grand jete’;
during orgasm; as part of an equation; and with a birth contraction.
God comes
at the sound of laughter, or a space launch, or the death rattle
and when there is no sound at all.
God comes
to the new convert,
and the new atheist.
God comes
to those who comfort or call for justice.
God’s lexicon is all of creation. Who should speak for God?
