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Monday, February 22, 2010

God Hides in the Smallest Places

God hides in the smallest places:
the carelessly upturned cuff of a sleeve,
the highlight in a lover's eye,
tucked inside the spine of some book, 
like a ribbon of place-marker

the pistil of a flower,
the smoke plume from a pipe,
swirled air through a Monarch's wing,

half filled cup, sitting in the sink,
dried tears on a handkerchief,
the pause, in a sob of anguish,
half burnt letter on the fire.

when your hand finally attempts to close on god,
you will find instead lint, dust, spores;
even though we are the predatory species,
the original hunters.

we are hunting that
which has turned itself inside out
and wrung us out, like ants fall
from a rotting log.

our busyness only takes us farther away,
farther from the beginning;
we must make ourselves smaller
on the inside,

than the smallest creature;
an ovum of closed intellectuality,
for we are the keyhole,
the minutiae, of god's existence

in the chess game
of the solitary mind,
we are the pawns:
god hides in the smallest places;
for he is also the master hunter.


  1. So many beautiful images - you gave full reign to your imagination in this excellent piece.

  2. I am addicted to your poetry, and I don't want a cure.