“Hold a leaf
up to the light
and how could you question
the existence of a creator?”
High on painkillers
sitting on the floor of my living room
he said this,
after he died

I started seeing them
leaves
their veins
the blood of nature moved through them
as he
moved on – away

I sat in that spot on the living room floor
watching a storm shake
the big oaks
their leaves, individuals
a ritual dance, rain
flooded the ravine below
I fell apart
I felt a part of it all
the blood of nature moved through me

How could you question the existence
of a creator?
of something greater
than your big plans
and morals
and a belief that you are right?

The god I know
is as impartial as a tidal wave
as good as a forest fire
as bad as a happy ending
it is the judgements we pass
between synapses
and the brick by which we build

our homes engulfed in its waters
and a screaming child who
lives and dies
and in her first breaths
and final goodbyes
there is no vengeance

How could you
question the existence of a creator?
when you have no doubt felt love
that sublime connectress
a tetris-ing of
our apparent separateness
something deeper
toes dig into the sand
and each grain is perfect and rare

and here is where it is –
in the way it all happens
tragically
perfectly
and he held a leaf out to me
and said

“How could you question the existence of a creator?”