House Of God

Some look for God
inside bricks and mortar,
steeples, windows and
doors that close.
I found Him in the rust-red
of Dogwood leaves,
hanging like gifts
accepting my thanks.
I looked in the limbs, and
He sang from a bird,
then tickled my ear
with the touch of a breeze.
In the laugh of a child
He rolled on the lawn next door;
a mural He painted
on a butterfly’s wings.
I’m not a deist,
my beliefs are more Christian than that,
I just prefer to worship
in the house He made.

(selected for publication in the January Issue Of Poetic Voices)