“Do you pray to God
that your sports team will win?”
“That is antithetical to everything I believe in,” he says. He continues his speech in truth about the inconceivable. “What do you think, Rabbi,” he asks.
“Oh, I think God is all.”
because I walk to the north
and find blue pansies beckoning
something other than me
with the wind.
And when I find myself in the east,
I whisper with sunlit yellows,
and linger in “the found.”
“I think God is all,” I say. “things, humans, animals, smiles, all the good, all the bad.”
For in the south, I am lost in lilies
that say, “Come. I open all the way. I simply can’t help it; summer is here.”
In the movement, God is sports.
In the sinews, God is love.
and in the west,
I make wishes.
