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