At the scruff of every ray of light

At the twinkling of every star

God sends an inspiration to Mother Earth

Each a blank canvas awaiting the trace of life

An initial trace of graphite against the white

In time He draws the pencil outlines

Resuming to shade intermittent values of experience

Mixed in with textures of wisdom

As the canvas grows darker

And His pencil shorter

The drawing sprouts intricate details

He is lost in His work in this moment

Hunched over and focused on Jacob's final ladder

The paper is no longer lily-white

But smeared in ages of gray

He now stands and views the finished product

Worn and beaten but tinged with beauty

Its edges bent and slightly torn

Yet bears an irreplaceable work of art

God calls the angels to lift it up

And the canvas finds home within the Holy Grounds

Engulfed in divinity once again