Sometimes in the quiet moments
I become aware of the tenuous negotiations
between the world and me,
not others in the world,
the world itself which is more real
and, if I had to choose, better,
than my ghost self,
that voice echoing in emptiness.
I would like to be proven wrong,
to see the face of God in the face of a bird
or frog or upon a smooth stone
I could hold in my hand.
My feet tread heavy on this earth,
spinning it faster beneath me,
so the answer remains elusive,
just beyond the horizon.