O, my God is the longest wave I ever saw
on a beach I can barely remember
plus the foam from that wave
that has not dissipated to this day
and the unheard boom
of the water from that same
ocean striking a shore 6,000
miles away.
O, my God is a great whale,
and my watching
whether alone at the lighthouse
or with other members
of the congregation of whale admirers
all suspended in glad anticipation
to distinguish the distant
plume
from a whitecap’s quick lick of the air.
O, my God is Sequoia Sempervirens,
no, is a whole grove of same,
no wait, is every one
of the redwoods on earth
offering truths to each other
via their mycorrhizae.
O, my God is the moment when I do not miss
seeing the butterfly
alight on the beebalm
wings open, wings closed, wings open—
its delicate homage
to pollen and the light.
O, my God is a Tahoe dawn
when my brother and I,
bundled in battered sleeping
bags that speak of their years in a cabin’s corner,
watch as the first light
touches Mount Tallac with its gilded
finger, our breath
freezing onto the air
in a secret script
only my God
can fathom.
