Have we, I wonder Made of God A divinity Entirely too cozy? Do we, I worry Wrap ourselves In an Almighty Snug blanket? Balances, balances Are such tricky tightropes A little too far This way or that And we plunge headlong Into some abyss or other Do I write for myself Or others? Do I focus too much on form Or content? Do I live the life examined Or merely self-conscious? And is my God too comfortable To be holy and wholly powerful?
I wish I could write the rain Sprinkle lines with fat drops As thunder rumbles in my heart And skies darken my eyes I wish I could release the torrent Cascading down the rain chain Tap dancing a Fred and Ginger routine Faster and faster On the corrugated tin porch roof Page of careful lines I wish I could sit inside my rain poem Snug and dry, safe and sound in my rocker On my tin-roofed porch page Grass and leaves bow in worship Trembling Once dull rocks sparkle and shine in their Sunday best My herbs offer up their sweet aroma To appease the rain Soaking through my fragile page I wish I could write the rain Withdrawing Hurrying to its next appointed page As my page drips its sweetness