Where Have I Hidden

Each morning I open the house…

stand in a room awash

with transitioning light

and dark’s confession 

The gradual retreat of night’s dominion 

pulling back, giving way…

Until the rush of sunlight

blazes along edges 

of closed shutters

and drawn curtains,

A newly minted day    

repurposed and ordained

starting over

surrendering to the gospel of change

In the crescendo of living light

story-lines resume 

their shapes and meanings… 

The small talk of ticking clock 

and musing books, the crease of time 

sequestered in chair and couch,

constellations of dust 

along lampshades  and mantelpiece,

a scattering of pens and paper 

waiting with their quiet 

unfinished business

There will be the raising of blinds,

the parting of drapes,

sunlight sweeping across sleeping rooms

blistering like new paint on an old world  

There will be coffee and 

its complicit spike of adrenalin

and a dose of daily news… 

organizing the quakes and shivers of a lost world

And finally

like all mornings

there will be my real work…

lingering on detail and overview

distraction and substance,

opening mind and heart to pose 

the underlying question… 

Where have I hidden god today?