Nothing is Divine

Nothing is divine.

Not the fawn's nativity in late spring,

Consecrated by dark fragrance 

And baptized in bright stars.


Not the coastal redwood, bathed in white mist,

Twisting high in supplication

To the meager sunlight.


Not even her body, soft as the rain,

Grounded in the earth and rising

To meet his ardent prayer. 


The God of the Rainbows turns his grim face

From the faithful child's final plea,

So nothing is divine.  



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