1

napo

God moves his tongue;

not quite speech, but 
teething, 
maybe?

God is a child and we are extensions
fingers, toes
curling growing lengthening
limbs of a child boy man who
trips
whistles with great gusts of breath
that puff out from rounded, red cheeks and
swirl into galaxies
into things we call
fate, chance

the things we hold without grasping
taste without touching

maybe

love?

when asked to define love
God 
spreads his fingers and toes and 
digs into the air like sand
or silt, 
scratching at the surface of the face
(moon earth you?)
says

Here
it is here

and he opens his mouth
moves his tongue
words or teething

and it is there

Reviews

[Simon Welsh]

Hmm interesting poem. I love the language used. So, we're all an extension of God?

[Devons]

There is a cool, breezy air of playful charm, insight, and thoughtful intelligence about this piece, which has a winning quality of deftness. A light touch, as though dabbing a fine paintbrush delicately onto blank canvas to create something evocatively resonant with the minimum of force.

The concept of God being childlike -volatile, innocent, unknowing, even gauche- is more imaginative than The Big Bang Theory or The Bible, from my own point of view. But then, I'm neither scientist nor cleric...