To an unknown God, I give all of my wonderings:
the delight of thin clouds, rippled perfectly
across the blue sky like a bed sheet;
the awe of cosmic dust, sparking and dancing,
adorning the rich darkness of night;
the restlessness and fullness and solitude
all knotted together within me and crying
like the seagull’s longing call;
the despair over violence near and far,
and over the lies we tell ourselves
to deny our participation in it;
the suspicion — the truth — that like a blade of grass
I will wither, that life finally lacks significance;
the ache of loving life and connection and
experience, no matter how fleeting;
the deep hope that, no matter how unknown,
the mystery of Your work unfolding is still
greater, wilder, more satisfying
than this flesh and dust.