God Named Lost

                            Are you more than 

                            a name

                            scratched with a stick

                            in the sand for mis-

                            shapen waves to claim;

                            the gift of water

                            to drink and bathe and trust;

                            a hint of peach gray hue

                            in the early morning sky

                            which we inhale with

                            flitting sparrows before

                            your coming rain?

                            Are you the space

                            between the ribs

                            where light enters, here

                            in the pain, the afterbirth,

                            the losses we disclaim?

                            Are you the dirt

                            ground deeply into the

                            strains of weary feet

                            aching from long walks

                            on these uncut trails alone?

                            Are you a wisp in the sky,

                            the unnoticed sound

                            of lightly feathered wings,

                            the fragrant meat we cook
                            over open fires, the

                            burning stars, the risen songs,

                            the oldest ascending questions
                            here among us?