God of Horizons

You are blue meeting blue

in unbroken symmetry.

You are in the highways and high places. How

come? How can it be?

It’s you in the dirt red roots,

and in the treetops in the rustling.

Please forgive or, perhaps, entertain

me: you are Paradox

approachable only in poetry.

You are there on the horizon, and my eyes

are ever fixed in front of me. You sighed

the earth’s great unearned beauty: this

is the first grace - the breath

unfurling eternally.

You are in the skies and in the clouds

twirling lightly and unhurriedly.

And yet, are you not the loudness of the

hurricane hurling a storm

on the sea, just the same?

Somehow you are the Word and, still, the silence,

a God familiar with quiet.

As for me, I am wordless

but for this, this,

my half-patterned praise at the

un-understood mysteries of your combined

and complete identity -

Comforter. And yet,

still, Composer of everything.