God is not in the church
It’s in the sweet warm blush of Spring breeze,
the blue burning up high in the afternoon,
the mattress-soft pinks and cotton whites
blooming along freshly painted porches;

It’s in the bees that buzz zip from petal to petal
as if their lives’ meaning is to bring pollen
to the colors of the rainbow,
to spread the seeds of Summer over everything
like green over a pasture, teeming and bright;

It’s in the reason we come to a park on Sunday
and lie on our backs, float on the cool grass,
gaze up the skirt of a flowering tree,
letting the Sun take a nap on our chest

God is life, and life is all around