Rough Draft

I don't believe that God is a little white lie,
but I also don't believe
that God is a mascot,
or a stain on your shirt,
or the receiver of your dead letters.
I don't believe that God is a Man,
wielding his dick like a lightening bolt,
sharpening his beard with his static fingers,
waiting to flash his petty hot anger
like a red-faced child in a grocery store.

Instead, I believe
that God is an artist,
a special kind of junkie,
functional but barely,
experiencing fits of creativity,
leaving his mark
on each little piece,
hand-carving and hand-painting
every squirrel, every rabbit,
every fish, every human,
until the night comes
and bathes each creation
in abstraction and blur.

I believe that God looks at each tiny bit
with wonder, care,
all romantic and sentimental,
until fragments of light pierce the breast
of every squirrel, every rabbit,
every fish, every human,
until those fragments, those pieces of Godself,
become souls -- not fully-formed,
not actualized just yet, but there,
flooding each crevice with light.

And maybe we are precious, and maybe we are loved.
And maybe we get dropped by accident,
scuff marks, dents showing.
And maybe we're all sappy
and silly and weird.
And maybe we will be OK,
full of wonder and care.