The problem with God
is the problem rivers have
when they attempt to flow against the tide.
To God, existence and inexistence
are a one-sided coin but we,
haunted by death, prefer to believe
there are two sides,
which we can flip at will.
In this hollow beneath the mystery
of God’s existence/inexistence
(the distinction between the two
being an artifice of our quotidian minds)
we have heard Sumerian, Hebrew,
Aramaic, Choctaw, each
with a vowel or half a vowel,
a consonant of Godspeech
fragmented, while we stand
firm on Dais Earth,
passionate and fluent,
addressing each other and God
in clicks and glottal stops:
stubbornly, irredeemably polyglot.