Diary of an American

i am swept up in grace
No longer myself but a vision I once had
briefly a flash of light you created anew
the stars know
as does all of creation that you move among us soundlessly the gardener in his garden pronouncing everything good
you are the artist painting rainbows across the sky the blue jay brushes against the sky blue look close
In the blackness of the raven you hide subtle rainbows shown by sunlight
you are not in the thunder but in the poetry of silence; in the sound that raindrops make or the hushed glorious way that sunbeams touch the earth at end of day
in the feather softness of wings in upward rushing flight listen
the music of the spheres
symphony into the aurora borealis transformed
dancing here below
You are
the graceful muted movement of deer steps in the woods you
are
the soundless, steady movement of color weaving through the trees in autumn the low music water makes journeying ever downriver
You are.
somehow
your still silent voice is louder to me than crashing thunder profound in its depth and tenor
Listen
the wind whispers you everywhere
you are
I am
I am