Standing on the edge of the field
the wind scything the brambles
toeing the brown grey dirt
through deadened mulch
my boot heel stretching
then
cracking the ice
I search for your voice
your sign
a sign
the terrible whisper
that freezes rivers
hearts
I come out here
because nature
is capricious
as often You seem
I still
cannot fathom
God as a Baby
or on a Tree
so I watch the earth freeze
turn white
clean once more
see the choir of snow
touch ice crystals
and listen