Wonderment

Thus says the Lord:

With heaven my throne

and earth my footstool,

what house could you build me,

what place could you make for my rest?

All of this was made by my hand

and all this is mine – it is the Lord who speaks.

                                                        Isaiah 66:1

I do not know the meaning

 of the light’s stammering, 

brattle-bristling

speaking

through the cloud-flocked 
fields of September,

or what hues of shifting heart,

where all things begin to move

    in wonderment, comes forth, into 

   this incomprehensible love

 rippling the poetry

 of You,

softly orating 

the verses of morning

unfurling 

 the autumn’s 

buckling-

beautiful,

swaying into 

the fathomless dark 

 arms of the earth,

spinning 

and holding 

still,

this serenade

of You.