As It Is Poem by David Taylor

He sat as it were, with nowhere to sit,
and with nothing that sat, and with nothing that did.
He blew bubbles as it were, with nowhere to blow;
with only His love they were made,
with only His breath did they grow.

Each bubble a cosmos, a home as it were,
they never would meet,
they never each other would find,
with no time to exist and no place to reside.
Not in any way separate were they
from His love and His grace which had made them that way.

He spoke as it were, and no sound did He make,
but I heard all that He said in all that He had made.
I awoke as it were and fell deep asleep,
in a bubble, He said, full of His love and His grace
because, as He said, He had made me that way.