I am confused about God
Not cautious, confused
I am curious about Him
Not cautious , curious

I wonder where he lives and indeed where on earth he’s hiding
Which of these uprooted stones he’s supposed to be under
Where he lies his lofty head at night
And if it is indeed the same bed where tonight -
His children will desperately hide trying to forget his fucking garden

I though I found him smiling at me in friends in family
But my eyes and ears are admittedly untrained
Is He hiding or to be found?
Will He, once recovered, ascend from the sky like a sonnet?
Or descend up out of the earth like a song?
And will we then be held ultimately or finally burn?

Or perhaps, more immediately now, the question
If He found the mood for the first time
Since the jinx of mankind tonight to return
And dropped in on the November ABBA singalong in the Olympia
Would he too throw on a tinsel wig and wave a flag and forget his brother and sisters
Or would he tear up his speech
And slip out the fire escape, unnoticed
Never to return?