in the face

what if i whisper
holy holy
while scrubbing the sun streaked floors
some morning?
what if i cry it out
in bed, fingertips digging into flesh?

is God not there?
Am i not worshipping?

Listen, how can you tell me,
and believe it, 
that anything done
is wrong?

i promise you,
if you want to see God,
look inside your mirror
and inside your house
the fields,
the sky
look closely at the ladybug, and the black widow
look into the eyes of a child.

the mystery is that we never see God,
even though he’s always staring us 
right in the face.