God waits

for some sign of human feeling.

Nothing’s here but gelled indifference,

cooling to the touch.

God thunders in the

mountain pass. A juniper

throws arms against the line of squalls.

Granite teeth are bared.

Something waits

beyond the blackened timber.

Here it is, the tool

to strip the flesh from one’s own breast,

expose one’s heart toward the sky

beneath the stars in four directions.

Spirit, take this heart of stone, this

lichened stone and break it slow.

I hold it to the sky of rain

if you will green its life again.

Do you hold your breath, far God,

delighting in your showering grace,

though most will only see it

as a warp within the slant of light?