God is in your closed eyes, when your mouth rests on mine. I taste his longing to escape, but all I can give him is my own prison. God is in the absence of your touch as your hand releases my shoulder leaving chills of a confused zephyr on my skin. God is in the silence, in the chasm and quiet, in that calm that makes one feel the essence of their breath. God is in the gentle breeze, the unnoticed air the transparent tear that softly bends the blade of grass. God is at the end of the song you dedicated to me, the one that made us both still with distance and freewill God is at the failure our image as we both stop singing only for a while 6:30am. God sleeps. There's an alarm clock that makes my lips tick tock
About the Poet:
Aida Bode is a poet, writer, and translator, published in a variety of online and print magazines. In 2017 Aida was a Pushcart Nominee by West Texas Literary Review.