To You, this poetry is addressed as supplication
and remembrance but, also, the holding of You
at word’s distance, at arm’s length;
the channeling of a shriek, rage and whine
into winsome couplets of polite doubt,
flattery and offhanded inquiry. Absurd!
The attempt to peer at the Infinite Ever-present,
through the glass of imagery and metaphor;
the attempt to confine God within a human skull,
carry Him on the tips of our tongues, fingers,
brushes and pens; to pledge our allegiance to That
of which we know a terrifyingly scant nothing;
to That which we fear and mistrust
instinctively and almost entirely.
O child of God, it’s no small matter
ever, to speak of the Great I Am.