With a smidgen of theology
A smattering of prayer

With concern for the environment
That preferential option for the poor

With a mother’s lap for a weaned child
And borrowed ah, bright wings

I carefully craft my God

Until on a fall day
Rain
softly kisses
the breasts of trees

Windshield wipers
(My oldest
forty and more years ago
called them smicker smackers)
play hide and seek
with the raindrops

My vision blurs
*Smick*
clears
*Smack*
I hear (my husband)
*Smick*
Talk low soft
*Smack*
I watch (my husband)
*Smick*
Listen high hard
*Smack*

*Smick*
(Even we
will little heed
nor long remember
what we
say
see)
*Smack*

But ah, bright love
Through a gray day

I hear some God
Not of my making
Chuckle