o lord our lord, how excellent

thy name in all the earth!

       psalm viii

 

the linen-draped priests can spend

all Sunday summoning up this

stained-glass earth-shaker,

the All-Mighty, some 

cosmic judge to satisfy

their whims. (verily, they

shall have their reward).

 

however,

 

God is nothing less

than the still breeze rattling

the leaves behind you.

nothing less than the

water dribbling down the

front of the canyon.

than the fingers clicking

across the keyboard

or

the hands cooking dinner.

 

God is nothing less than

the soft momentum of a

summer day. nothing less

than the gas stove turning on

and the water boiling. bugs

humming, dogs howling.

sleepy children on the lawn.

the van wheels trace

another mile.

 

God is nothing less than

the erupting meadow.

golden flowers, and white.

clouds streaking to horizon.

nothing less

than repeated gestures and

some warm smile.

honey on waffles and

aroma skating on aether.

 

God is nothing less than

the crisp pale of snow

gliding to earth.

nothing less than crackle

of fireplaces, warm blankets.

sunset at five and defiance

of long, cold night via

the ritual of laughter,

lightbulbs and cookies.

 

God resides in

the least of these.

and this is where

I need My God.