Oh, Good God ¦ who hides Your holy head
Above the clotted clouds ¦ far from our faithless sight,
Your perverse peek-a-boo ¦ grows old and gray—
The dubious discern you ¦ on tortillas and tavern walls,
While we, the why-cryers, ¦ belief-longers, Bible-stunned,
Sick in our salvation and sin, ¦ peer into a white pit
Of near-nothingness, ¦ ephemeral fog fading in wind.
I’ve learned Your lightning, ¦ Your terrible tornadoes
And horrid hurricanes, ¦ Your dying leaves and dead children,
All changes explainable by chance ¦ and fickle fate
So far as we can see. ¦ Damned to doleful ignorance,
We wail into the wasteland, ¦ Your presumptuous, proud
creations.
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