A for Blog

A fine silent sepia scene.
A mother crumpled by MS
in the bicycle basket
of her peasant son.

Both motionless in quiet love
faces raised to the noon above
glow on the road
in bubbles but as one.

World, sun, son, one
more day in paradise,
a memory baking
not making.

When God is just an abstract noun
we cram the floating word
with metaphors, provisos, parallels,
pro bonos, caveats, and dreams –

with fluff not concrete, yet
it tumbles right out of the sky.
When God means whatever,
God is a word to beware.