We Implore

How in Your name do You do it  
night and day, day and night,
weather the whiteout of words,

scribble of mother tongue
uttered under the breath,
those heart rending howls

packing power enough to jolt
the odd celestial cat nap,
hunt You down holed up

under alias, disguised
at the wispy tip of some
far flung finger of cloud,

or, as I like to picture it,
sitting at a light draped
in a pearlescent Lincoln MKZ

with tinted windows, elbow
on the console, following
the approach of a pilgrim

brandishing a hand lettered
sign like the relic of a martyr,
silently praying for the green.