POEM possibly written in the half-sleep of waking from a dream about a future in love…

 

I was taught those letters: g-o-d.
But it’s not the glottal word
I worship, nor the humanoid-
father-perambulation that
brings me joy.
What I revere is the striving;
the invisible thing that
makes a zygote split from
one-to-two-to-four-to-eight;
the thing that makes a seed
sprout and a bud leaf;
gravity that makes the stars
and planets; quantum physics;
the thing that makes my heart beat.

 

Worthy of adoration is the
electric synapse in the brain
of an ancient ancestor who
invented letters and writing.

 

Just like I do not worship
your name, or the stress
that coaxes you to forget
compassion in the moment,
or to forget to stop for almond milk
on your way home…
What I adore and worship is
your being and the invisible
cord that drew you here.

 

 

 

 

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