The God in the Afternoon Sky

I smell your existence in the souls  
Of leaves rising from a tiny fire  
Kept alive by a neighbor assigned
By ritual to keep a few square feet  
Of his corner of the world tidy
 
I hear you in the warbler hidden  
In the mango tree outside my window
One of many providing the leaves  
the neighbor sweeps for the little fire
That he stares at every afternoon
 
I see your thinking as I wallow  
In the sun-baked calm, there is
No laughter in the park today
Your sun declares the swing and slides
Untouchable, keeps children indoors
 
There’s a murmur of a plane, astray
You’d think, as planes seldom pass  
This way to land, the pilot decided
The tower assented, and you helped  
The busy onto the airport nearby
 
I stay in your shade, while listening
To the rumble and the whinging of  
A world that does not glance at the sky
Grinning and frowning watching their screens
They follow the cracks and the gossip  
 
Of the sidewalk, the babble about  
A government official gone gay
Or the office manager who has  
A drink or ten daily, they do not lift  
Their eyes above the horizon
 
They see the nimbostratus, the news
of the bad and the news bent bad
but not the cumulus or the blue above
the plans afoot and planes aloft
or the god in the afternoon sky.