When His love flowers through,

I am hopeless but to be His lover,

arms fondling every tress

of his creation – the lid

of garbage cans is Him,

plastic flowers I have to kiss,

helpless to resist His

Heaven-scented beauty,

tongue, heart, lips

licking tendril clouds,

used-up leaves, mislaid

rings for keys, all of it

is He, He whispers

through the reeds,

In every single thing,

find me. And I do,

stroking, rocking,

holding lost parts

of his body, fear

and loss and greed,

bullets, blame,

disease, all of it

His holy kingdom,

of which I am a vassal

and a fool, stupid

with love for Him,

beguiled, besotted,

smitten with the dream

of His entire Being.

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