What could I possibly write about God, about Truth?

For it is everywhere I look and everything I see…

You’ve never looked as beautiful as you do now

with death standing over your shoulder…

The rain drizzles — pitter patter —

on the river’s edge…

To be alone is to gaze upon a flower

to melt and merge into the preciousness of its rich color and sweet perfume…

To everyone

who’s ever told me

I’m too much:

You were right.