this is the day you'll find god
you'll see him in a cardinal's shadow rippling over the snow
you'll hear her in your daughter's laugh impossibly shrill and perfect
you’ll move the couch to make room for the the tree and god will be
right there where you left it three years ago
on the way to work you’ll catch a shimmer of something
through the passenger window and wonder if god was asking you to follow
through birdsong behind frosted glass
beneath the whirl of frightful winds
in the tapping of the oak upon the roof
you’ll hear the voice of something that must be god
because it will say the opposite
of what the other voices tell you
and you'll clutch its warmth to your heart
as winter drags its slow chains across your bones
