Of God on Saturday Morning

early morn lake
i ride at six a.m. back
from dropping off my love
to pound the road all day
carrying heavy loads of letters
we stop for a biscuit sausage muffin
just to claim it is Saturday she is a splendid woman
Tripp lake is barely lit the geese are honking
their dilema do we leave now for warmer places
or stick around Maine where it is suddenly toasty
in December, maples and oaks stand bare against
the dawning sky and sing their praises from the heart wood
where your image is emblazaned….i cry hossana though
your name is called a thousand different ways we still and
You are only One Allah, Jehovah, God or there are those
who dare not name you still your endless essence written
on the skin of their deepest desire we humans think to own
you claiming my god or my father it does not change the Mother
Father, Maker, Creator of Universes you hold with us in Your hand
this land cannot but scream the news that you are here we celebrate
as pagans, Christ mass, lovers of life, birthers of God and still we
cannot know what’s already written in every breath and leaf and atom
re-membering each piece of Love is born right now right here rignt
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