What a fine thing it is to be imagined by God and thought well enough of to live.

To have a string of moments when we can eat and breathe and give,
And feel the blackest hopelessness yet know we can survive,
To run through fields of meadow grass and feast upon the sky.

What a grand dance these molecules perform like practiced jinn,
Beyond the reach of human eye where all of us have been
Lies waiting everything we've ever asked and never known
The codas to what's grieved and lost and loved and left undone.

Above the snowy mountaintops the sky shines brightly blue,
Beneath the clouds a rainbow lies in every color hue.
All because we wish it so, we make it what it is
For we all share the mind of God, our thoughts are hers and his.

So too are those darkest things we whisper in a hush,
So too is the blackest want that lies in all of us,
So too is the murderous heart, the greedy selfish hand,
For all of this is made of God as God is made of man,

And albatross and lemming, and seal and flower and air,
and causeway on the Interstate and curly, kinky hair;
and music on the airwaves and madness in street
and war and peace and tension and love and grace and grief.

Godself is not a man, not a woman or a child,
But every heart that beats and every face that wants to smile.
Godself is every lover, every cheater, every fake,
every hillside every river every ashfall every lake.

God floats upon my orchid bowl and begs for dollars in the street.
God races with the astronauts and slaughters animals for meat.
God cries when God is violent yet God insists to know the will
of diving knives in shoulder blades with grave intent to kill.

Now we call it blasphemy to say God can be so vile
Or we say that God is after us for sins against his child,
But God has simply taken this form for just a while
to eat and breathe and live and give and laugh and cry and smile.

Sunday, August 1, 1999