While you sit at your desk
water striders dance upon the surface of a pond,
high, thin clouds stretch across the sky,
and acres of tall grass, reticent after a long dry summer,
God is in everything, I tell her,
hoping the mystery and matter-of-factness
will give her something to think about.
'Everything? ' Everything.
All around me people are dying.
An old tune set to Muzak
becomes the soundtrack
to our despair. Beside me,
What he really wants to paint
is behind him,
but the solitary sound of a bell
at the wrong hour turns him