I come from people
who believed God speaks
in dreams and visions,
who went to a land
God showed them
and died there
or left . . . We left.
(And, yes, there is more
to that story.)
What do you do
When you leave your Promise Land?
Is God’s glory dispersed, like a lake turned to fog?
Can you taste it in your tea?
Feel it in the curve of cup against your thumb?
Might God call to you,
through the sliding doors of the corner store–
your burning bush by the baskets?
Your burning bush in the sparrows bathing?
Your burning bush in your neighbor’s humor
or the freshly climbing sun?