The Lenten Voice of God

VI. Wisdom: The Voice of God

Ninety percent of what’s wrong with you
could be cured with a hot bath,
says God through the manhole covers,
but you want magic, to win
the lottery you never bought a ticket for.
(Tenderly, the monks chant,
embrace the suffering.) The voice never
panders, offers no five-year plan,
no long-term solution, no edicts from a cloudy
white beard hooked over ears.
It is small and fond and local. Don’t look for
your initials in the geese honking
overhead or to see through the glass even
darkly. It says the most obvious shit,
i.e. Put down that gun, you need a sandwich.

How God Speaks

Not with face slap or body slam
Rarely with lightening bolt or thunderclap

But in sighs and inclinations leanings
The way a baby suckles breath

The green current of the hazel wand
Curves toward the underground spring

The man in cashmere flesh does arrive
Holding out his arms he is wide

As any horizon I’ve ever traversed desert for
He brings thread count to my bed

Fire to my oven With a towel tucked
In his jeans he soaps my hair

Then finger combs it dry
I massage a knot from his neck

His mouth is well water
His gaze true and from

His tongue he brings the blessed Word

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