if God is not a grace note but the whole symphony
why should I whittle my candle down to no kindling at all
it's weary I am of mincing the matter
just to be given a hearing and then to be thought
clownish and unsubtle
a curiosity, countrified side show
then call me out freakish
I know who made me
how would I barter Him away
sweet Donne did not they say
accounting all metaphors Him
and even then so far below the mark
of comparison men would be blinded
in love by one stray spark
from His burning
not to offend the careful the candid affable
shall I be loathe to name
the one who calls all names
into Being
far from me Lord, my Door
I am no mime
to call thee timidly as if Thee were
such a wisp of a ghost
and I the embarrassment to all modernity
then let the universe be numb
I will have none of it if not Thee
my soul, and I accounted dumb
the fool of fools
you rule my language sun by sun
or else
I have none.
mary angela douglas 17 december 2022
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