We talked about God
We re always talking about God
Even if other names come up.
There is this ache that follow us to the park, we were born with it.
Cafe au lait, sun brighter than normal on graffitied garbage cans, heaven looks like the east village in April.
God talks to us. He is always talking to us even if He sounds like drums or pigeons. He says to love without knowing how or why, He says we are free to leave when we want.
I ride my bicycle to work at a restaurant that serves food to the hungry. God’s face looks like sunlight through window on Bar stools, orchids waiting for homes in the market.
Outside of this is death and guitar, grandfather and unmet lover. God surrounds us with silence and thunder. He speaks beyond death into bloom.
Im not always brave like I should be. My hands look to elbows for comfort. Let us love one another, as God loves the peonies, let us rain and shine bright through the glass panes of each other’s temple.
I am following God through the city, looking for stars through the haze. I hear Him speak in stoop and weep, I see Him through death into spring.
We are crumbling temple, Corinthian pillars, and soft marble tables in sunlight.
I am speaking to God in the only shape I know to make with my words. I am listening for drums and the wind.