I know the universe works mentally…
I know everything.
Later still,
He came upon a revelation.
We all see it differently.
A summer’s breeze
Is nothing is
One soprano in an Aeolian choir is
God’s breath is
A brotherly flux in air pressure is
Feeling balmy on the skin after
All day sending emails.
More though,
The mind is as malleable as code:
You can edit, you can edit, you can edit.
He realised later that God was not one
For guarantees.
And if not He, then who?
Misery clinched the crannies,
Constant as thought.
He was a wind-up lantern in semi-solid fog;
He scarcely saw his hands as they worried the crank.
As a child, God made him a solemn promise:
Life would be good.
Not in so many words,
But in overstuffed stockings and doting grandparents;
In Milka after school and waterslides in France;
In a vat of cascading Lego bricks
And a familiar hand to flick the bedside lamp;
In imagination– yes, imagination most of all.
If God was anywhere,
He’d be crashing on your couch.
Shorter Poems 