Holding Hands with God

My eyes are thirsty 

And my soul is desiccated

Because I have forgotten the feel of your fingers, 

God,

On my palms. 

I never did learn to fully trust you 

And you have flown from the cage in my heart.

But when I remember to look up, 

You greet me from the fence posts,

The song of red winged black bird

And mourning dove, 

And you whisper in the back of my hollow throat. 

I abandon the pretense of walking on the road

Cut across the vacant lot of town
Defy the fences built by own nervous mind

And hold my hands, 

Palms out,

To the phantom of you.