asking God: how and why

How did God decide
what should be?
That he would be three,
that we would live here,
that all the tiny particles
would somehow equal life.

What does it mean
to have a soul?
To be eternal,
to hold something within us
that is ungraspable,
depths that science cannot reach.

Why did he deem us
of importance?
To give us emotion
and thought,
to drop us into confusion,
decision, determination,
loss.

What contributes to our need?
What contributes to his plan?
What reveals the inner workings
and the presence
of the great?

How are we to know the difference
between destiny
and fate? If it's already planned,
who are we to turn away
from the God
who somehow made us,

somehow breathed us
into form:
took the dust and made
our bones and blood
and called us
to be born.

Hope

She would never look at you
when she cried:
that sole expression
of the deep

because to see her eyes
between huffing sobs
would be to see god,
his disappointment
in us.

Falling
is the only way
to rebuild.

The Growing Season, Part III

III.

You spent years figuring out 

that Spring returns each year,

that the rain comes with it 

& the tulips

& the dew. 

Each time they returned,

you seemed surprised, 

as if you might have never

seen them again,

like a dog returning 

to its owner.

It was the long winter

that felt like the end.

Short days swept by 

into thick darkness.

Morning was brief and bright:

new mercies quickly passing. 

I thought it was the grey;

you thought it was the Spring.

We sat inside our separate boxes,

staring out the windows:

heavy winter, heavy rain.

But the tulips brought the 

light back, & the Springtime

brought the dawn,

& the source of every sadness

was your noncommittal gaze

at the busy streets below us.