God Was Singing All Along

I don’t want to be so old 

that I’m dead when I finally figure it out:

God was singing to me all along—

in waves crashing on my toes,

in the stray dog who comes to say hello like a happy trumpet,

in the tiny ants and their endeavors on my skin,

in the magic of the seashells, how can they be?

in the breeze that turns the curtain into fabled cotton waves—


I don’t want to be so old 

that I’m dead when I finally figure it out:

God was singing to me

all along.