Perhaps God listens to my poems.
I don’t know.
But then any parent would listen
to his child,
hear the longing of his child’s voice
living in a place barely known.
I never feel Him refuse my words.
Walk away from me.
He leaves shadows, which in
some way I can connect with words.
Describe His life’s desire
as my own,
as if His faith is taking Him
as a parent would, without words
and pull in the one he loves.
He whispers in a passion
that is the immensity of worlds,
we are poetry,
all the rest is affectation.