In this soft rain,

in my garden

by the street

lit with yellow light,

it is easy to think

that there is nothing more to life

than this.

Yes, that this is it— cool rain

before a summer storm, the breath

of God made known by beauty.

But then the lightning.

Then the thunder.

And for a shocked moment,

the scream of the world

is a branch

trying to survive the wind.

And this is where I begin.

This is what keeps me up at night.

The beggar. The addict.

The young woman, her eye bruised shut.

All these people belong to God.

And if I am to also,

I must grab the branch

with my wet hands.

And I must stand here

until I feel the world shake.