God

If there be a God he is beneath my feet.  
Inside of the many blades of soft grass  
there is Him, wavering, like a bloomed  
candle-flame upon a thread of cotton.  
 
If there be a God, surely he has to be  
inside of the burnt umber bark  
of the tree.  
 
Encased inside of a single drop of rain.  
 
In the cloud that moves nearly without detection.  
 
In the soil that fuels and feeds.  
 
In the eyes of the womb-snatched child,  
crying out God's pleas.