The Burning Bush

 

But what good is God is He stays away, hidden

under words and signs, unperceived. Shouldn’t He be

right at our nose, holding our hand, walking beside?

Not a whisper in the willows, a light on a hill,

ice melting before our eyes. How can you capture

nothing? That’s when we fall. Unable to hear, we

go away. We wait for things to change, to know

 

before we leap. But we can only stop so long

until we must move. And we do, right or wrong. Feet

step down their path, hoping. We follow our voice.

How different life would be if He wasn’t fire in a tree.