i know where God lives.
in the room at the top of the stairs,
open the door, you’ll see him there.
in the morning he do yoga — writing and shit,
sometimes he travel right where he sit.
i still see him, though he’s not there,
just a hologram fully aware.
a window in the room
open to reality.
when i look, i’m not sure
if i see him, or i see me.
yesterday he smoked a j
and did taiji the short form way.
through a crack in the door
i watched him fling,
twist and step with Cheng Man-ch’ing.
i know where God lives.
he’s in the room at the top of the stairs,
just open the door, you’ll see him there.
he loves to laugh without a grin,
delights his own presence,
redeems his own sin.
on a tree i hung,
he watched me die,
then shouted hallelujah
as i cried.
he wiped my tears
and tried my eyes,
then gently commanded me — rise!
by K. Osei
nature7blog 