god doesn’t live in my garden

from the blooms of my flowers

i hear laughter. they have teased

me through the months of winter.

young boys will appear with the

fur of bears. oh saints of god,

why do you not talk to me

like the crows in my trees?

or sing to me like the morning

doves that call out my name?

what am i to know about you,

what can i hang my hat on?

are you a hooligan hiding from

the law? if you can tell me this,

why can’t you tell me that? is

a crescent moon the smile of a

starry night? i have never seen

you smile. is rain tears of joy

from the sun? i have never seen

you cry. you are a thousand miles

away. oh saints of god, that’s life.

there is no face to gaze upon, no

lips to kiss, no tongue to swallow.

how much more is heaven going

to be a paradise than each breath

i take? a heart that tolerates cancer

has crippled my desire to love it.

your indifference to war has left

me agitated. oh saints of god, i

cannot grant you an invisible

administration of my dreams.

maybe tomorrow, though i

wouldn’t hold my breath waiting.

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