Dear God,

I heard the shouted “no!”s and flinched inside
where you hold and heal me still
and I think it get it,
this collective wound
that rages against the “you” we’ve painted
with our broken down lives
and it smells like puke, the hurt we do
and chills my spine,
that sound of windows breaking
to let the bad air out.

Cause you don’t smell like that,
you who are breath and sky and sea to me,
and hope and wildflowers and freedom to be
and I’m pretty sure of all beings
the most misunderstood
and judged false by blind pain,

your poetry and parables calculated and pinched
until we see you as the worst
of what we are
….as if we could ever know an artist’s heart
with a scalpel
or dissect a living thing
to poke pure creative genius
until we understand.

I likely know less than I think I do
but I want my life  space to  let you be you
in that same brave way you let us choose to love
or leave you alone.

My soul rests easy
in how secure you seem,
not power-tripping or  punishing or pushy
like the posters we paste
on political walls.

And I’m grateful how you set my heart
to twirling
and spatter flecks and speckles of  honest love
and awe
I throw my life open wide
with welcome,
I want you
~  my  one
wild and precious yes.

“Tell me,  what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
-Mary Oliver