All the Wrong Spaces

I just wanted to feel the words

The way my fingers shaped them

In a consummation of the kinesthetic

And the divine flame.

To have meaning at all--a gift of the gods;

To have significance--blessing without measure.

The crowded heavens with their lonely lights

Cannot convey the simple truth:

You are someone.

A fixture of language that could only flow

From the mouth of a perceiving other,

Giving shape to the sustainer

Who upholds creation 

And tells it, not only that it is good,

But more simply that it is.