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The wind of God…
…moved over the face of the waters. And in reading this,
the awareness that, more than once,
God has turned my head in his direction,
yet I haven’t seen the gesture for what it is.
The world charges and is charged with a white-hot flame.
I might turn away, but each morning my head is turned for me
toward a crow’s flight, squirrel passage, or a person
with whom I share an ever-present reaching toward.
I let myself be turned sometimes. Sometimes
I get into my car and drive away.
Today I picture God’s hand cupped atop my head--
a quiet turning and then receding.
We are ‘fine’ with each other. This god has all the time in the world.
The wind of God…
…moved over the face of the waters. And in reading this,
the awareness that, more than once,
God has turned my head in his direction,
yet I haven’t seen the gesture for what it is.
The world charges and is charged with a white-hot flame.
I might turn away, but each morning my head is turned for me
toward a crow’s flight, squirrel passage, or a person
with whom I share an ever-present reaching toward.
I let myself be turned sometimes. Sometimes
I get into my car and drive away.
Today I picture God’s hand cupped atop my head--
a quiet turning and then receding.
We are ‘fine’ with each other. This god has all the time in the world.
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