Highway 5 down California. Boring as grass, God knows
—so we like to say. God knows grass, anyway.
God knows the joy of lifting
delicate petals to passing cumulus.
God knows the freedom of being created
by mountains to shrive the soil.
God knows the carve of wheel on crumbling body,
and the glory of speed, its silent sinew-thrum.
In the act of minute attention, God
dismembers Godself, and God grows.
This post includes an original, never-before-published poem. I release about one of these per month, plus a recording, and sometimes a short, rambling reflection. If you enjoyed this post (and would like more poems!) please consider writing me a letter.