by Sage Chapel
I’ll talk of god.
You’ll say you don’t believe.
And maybe god
Is just the dying grass under our heads
and the roots stretched beneath.
But I feel the loneliness in you,
Escaping into the trees.
The whippoorwhills calling–
As the stars turn and sing–
A return melody,
Not yet received.
I’ll ask when you lost your faith.
You’ll say you never believed.
And maybe god
Never flowed through
The rivers and the streams–
Beneath your fingers–
Humming under your feet.
I found my belief,
Among pines,
Among weeds.
So I will show you divinity
Along the lines
of the reeds.
****
Jennifer Dukes grew up in Athens, Georgia, where she still currently resides. She writes under the name Sage Chapel and this is her first published work. She hopes to publish more works in the future.