Where Did God Find You

Between the streaks of smeared moonlight

painted on by broken blinds, he found you.

In the not-silence of unsleep, squeaking

ceiling fan, snoring spouse. A raucous.

A cacophony still unable to smother

the panic of an insomniac thought stream.

A stewpot of undesires and unwants

bubbling over, turning to steam and sting

at your eyes.

You are frightened by the distance ahead,

full of pits, jagged, ragged with obstacle

and indifference.

The night is a well-met home for unseen

creeping, seeping terror.

You are terrified of your life in the night.

Yet, your unrest feeds the unknown, fertilizes the fear.

He finds you sowing your own demons

in this night.

He finds you a farmer of doubt, a harvester

of yesterday's failures mulched into today's

flower bed of sorrow.

Here, he says. I will take the plow for now, I will

turn the soil of the fields.

I am the sower of peace and light. This darkness

ends after this weary, worn night.

I will till if you will follow the rows,

step after step, and plant your garden anew.