I used to thinkthere was only one of Youbefore the miscarriage.Now, I am not so sure.Maybe there are a number of Gods to wade throughbefore falling at the feet of the last true one:                     the jade God we pray to                     who does not come or answer                     & the plum one who appears to offer salvation;                     the opal God who offers a limited extent of His kingdom                     & the olive one who only offers condolences;                     let us not forget the violet God that is bad with man                     because He is deeply holy.We all seek the one of manna though, don’t we?He, the one of follow-through.He, the one of action & consequence.He, the one holding all we hunger forlike butterscotch in His palms.That’s the God I wantto be alone with for a few moments,the God I wish to have to myselfin the hushed hours when I should be up & readying for worklike millions of other souls dispersedacross the country’s ink-black pillow.That’s the God whose name I utterwhen I sit in silenceon the shoulder of my mattress. I dreamwith eyes open of goading Him into halting my child’s rest,guiding his or her tiny light close to the brushfireflickering in my breath.That God? That great & swollen orange storm?That’s the God haunting me.        The God who keeps His distance.The God whose star-draped hands I envy.They come at day’s endto tuck my baby, my ember, into its infinite, feathered bed.