He’s too caged,
in temples and images of our brute make.
He’s too human,
drenched in emotion, standing in line with our hearts.
He’s too small.
Incapable of drowning me in wonder-clouds
on whether gravity is made of love,
what inside an atom ponders the atom,
why time seems to have a direction.
But, in the quiet nothing
between the stars,
is larger than where my breath could stray,
sweeter than my heart could take;
astounding everything I could throw -words, worship, love, prayer –
to stumble back onto land, mortal.
It remains beyond.