God, not there.

I should shrive my soul
and spend the next week kneeling.
I should cast my hands up to Heaven,
except that my God is not one who reaches
down. Won't I look silly--
kneeling, arms outstretched,
and beseeching to myself?

God, if He comes,
comes in the quiet before the morning,
and the stillness after evening.
God, if He comes,
comes when he wants to.
He comes when he needs to
and not when one needs him to come.

Ah, God-- who is
not listening, God who is
not coming just now, God
your servant kneels in some other chapel,
but your child is standing here
and unwilling to clasp her hands to the moon,
nor the sunset-- which is idolatry.

God, your child is standing
alone and worships you, hands at her sides,
with her yearning.