The musical geese cross
between the faltering wetlands
of the San Joaquin and look
down on us. They could answer
my questions but I’m already
gone, in my bed by the sea.
The fine car is too fast
for the wisdom of birds.

You talk about suffering
and I think about silence.
It makes my heart do funny
things. I see that we are animals
born in Heaven’s dark imagination
but I still don’t understand.
Pain might be the greatest
of God’s mysteries.

Where are we going?
What am I supposed to do?
And will we dive like kingfishers
into eternity?

 J. Kyle Kimberlin
January 16, 2015

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