…moved over the face of the waters. And in reading this,
the awareness that, more than once,
God has turned my head in his direction,
yet I haven’t seen the gesture for what it is.
The world charges and is charged with a white-hot flame.
I might turn away, but each morning my head is turned for me
toward a crow’s flight, squirrel passage, or a person
with whom I share an ever-present reaching toward.
I let myself be turned sometimes. Sometimes
I get into my car and drive away.
Today I picture God’s hand cupped atop my head—
a quiet turning and then receding.
We are ‘fine’ with each other. This god has all the time in the world.
