I call God . . .

the what , I don’t know.

I call God . . .

the where my doubt is stronger

than my permission, for living.

I call God . . .

the boundary, just beyond

my attention span,

to embrace the universe.

I call God . . .

the conclusion

surrounding the closet of sadness

that is overwhelming me, for then.

I call God . . .

Some . . . thing

that is separate from me.

I call God . . .

an addressable contemplative concept,

a separation admittance,

an intention without resolve.

I call God . . .

equipped with the audience

of my smallness unified.

I call God . . .

from a hurled utterance,

from an expectation’s entitlement stance,

from a last resort’s sense of summons.

I call God . . .

thriving on the fence of ambivalence,

thrilled by my method

of proposed indifference,

scoffing at the heart

of matter’s plea.

Eventually

I am beside myself but . . .

I call God . . .

with less form and manner.

I call God . . .

empty of predicament and position.

I call God . . .

with less pronouncement,

with no shape towards words,

no volume,

for there is no ‘there of God’.

I call God . . .

to say this phrase

but, it is drained

of meaning and implication,

the language ceases as function.

I call God . . .

celebrates surrender

provides for a medium within,

graced and beseeched.

I call God . . .

an acceptance of being . . .