The motherless-fatherless God
orphans the world in His own image,
His experience, His own elevated thoughts.
Yet He is unsatisfied, unhappy for
His creation is not perfect enough.
Even the little man with His breath-spark
is an unfulfilling design, in tun dissatisfied.
Everything has weight but
nothing has fullness.
Only the birds achieve effortless flight
and the planets spin easily in space.
Creation shatters in the layers of night
and reforms in the weak rays of dawn.
The moon shows the scars of His longing
and the sun the flame of His abandonment.
In punishment He permanently
orphans the land from the sea
and the earth from the sky.
In scorn He lets His man creation
people the earth and die too soon,
the posthumous orphan left-behinds
of His own abandoned dreams.
His child cries out “Father!”
on his forsaken cross.
Only the Romans sate
his thirst with vinegar.
He can not listen, only turn away
and resume creating and
spinning far better worlds.
The orphans of God feel the fatal loss,
the doom of the abandoned earth,
and refuse to cringe or weep,
hoping the manner of their death
shall redeem their birth in His hope
even as they lurch toward the grave