of our nostalgia for God
which we cannot quench
extinguish burn out of ourselves or quell well
and so we are still his moths
translucent so that the silver of his
unabating love for us shows through
in unexpected radiances of thought or speech
or in our silence before the immeasurable.
what were all those illuminations for
in early childhood
catching a vagrant star or two
out of the corner of a tearful eye
soon we will sleep the rest that comes to all.
this makes you weep.
why will you not still seek him
he is near.
mary angela douglas 22 august 2021
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