Flying high with my thoughts…
I’m flying high, above it all
one life, of so many
held in the belly of a sky bus…
bouncing metal, like a feather
caught in the winds of change.
while puzzled clouds shift…
I imagine God’s sticky fingers
shaping the mountains and valleys…
his pasty bowl of salt and flour dough
amply at his side
his earth tone paints, ready
eager to dip his brush into flowing rivers
and clever estuaries…
I wonder what he was thinking
when he made me…
I marvel at his masterpiece
the diversity of his geography, passing below…
and I feel strangely content-
even with all of the uncertainty
trapped within the pockets of my dough…
because deep down, I finally know
I am good.
And that’s all that really matters.