Stuck In The Changing Place Poem by Stephen Bennett The Playjurist

The God that is, when you feel God is not
close by, is the real one...
the wide awake eyes in a changing place
the saying of nothing that's heard
everywhere
all the time and I and all
the dead wooden parts that are part
of the hollow man-raised buildings and those
still alive in the trees with their buds, their bugs
and things... inside these towering halls of emptiness
and expanding volumes of light
and any other one of the other things I may decide to write
and add on to them, all of the infinity I omit
with you there... here, and me and all this...
and all of us are in it, on the floor of everything
at the most basic bottom... doing the same thing
together. And I'm telling you good.
And you're listening close, and I have
gotten myself up to this high peak
of having heard and understood the idea
of every bit of what everything is, and why it is
as it is, and for what, and I know
it more and more and I can't stop until
I'm crying out to you without fear or shame
and all of it's here and you feel it too...
but still the question remains the same,
only it's sometimes so wonderful to wonder
what in this changing place are we going to do?