Why the silence, O Lord?
Yet, in it
I am uncovering what I want to hear,
meeting my own lies face-to-face,
learning how I fill gaps with noise
discovering idols I construct in my sleep,
watching where I say, “No,
I am unwilling.”
For the silence exposes.
When I was young,
I crossed my heart, hoped to die,
“I will follow you anywhere,”
imagining a firing squad or a den of lions.
you who allowed formlessness and void
to steep for epochs perhaps
before speaking, “Let there be,”
Who, then, am I
to rush eternal gestation?
Who am I to command
the fingers of the Divine to knit me
more quickly in the soft, black, pink
of the soul’s womb?
Grow me then while I float,
kicking my heels,
in the muffled inner sanctum
of a God I cannot see.
Star Formulation in Tadpole Nebula, NASA