Wait Here

God waits
for some sign of human feeling.
Nothing’s here but gelled indifference,
cooling to the touch. God thunders in the
mountain pass. A juniper
throws arms against the line of squalls.
Granite teeth are bared.

Here it is, the tool
to strip the flesh from one’s own breast,
expose one’s heart toward the sky
beneath the stars in four directions.
Spirit, take this heart of stone, this
lichened stone and break it slow.
I hold it to the sky of rain
if you will green its life again.

Do you hold your breath, far God,
delighting in your showering grace,
though most will only see it as
a warp within the slant of light?