Who are You God
that you would tinker with a fish
until it grew legs to crawl from oceans?
Who are You that You would tinker
with a lizard until it grew wings to fly
over mountains which you push up from molten fields
for fun, with a finger
because you can?
What of humus, the ground?
How could you create such a chemistry womb
which feeds and feeds
but only because death preceded growth?
What must die and rot in my life so that something might have
a chance to grow and thrive and feed?
What in our church, oh Lord?
If I fly after her, will she find you?
Does the weight of their toys keep them from catching wind?
I am St. Francis. I am surrounded by a church
but immediately by pink roses.
My work is to abide;to adore them. And You, of course.
Who are You that You would
tinker with a church.