felt cute....might delete later

What if God is movement—
of body, of mind, of emotion—
and God is a showgirl's wink,
when she teases, "Come and get me, boys,"
or an azure bird,
pecking at cat food
left out for a stray,
where God also lives.

But maybe God is in the way
I respond to you,
so quick, so eager,
while you reply so slowly—
I know you’ve built a curio shelf
of friends, a curated collection,
and I’m just another dusty knick-knack
sitting among them.

But for me, you sit
on a throne beside my altar,
where I've burned incense
for years—
you would know this
if you paid attention
for it is written in the speed of my reply,
anxious to never let the connection go cold.