The Creator

Here I stand as I have stood before, upon
ribbons of endless shoreline
trimmed with white waves
like gray blankets under a baby's chin.

And I know He must be here, mingling with
the salty-kissed air and lavender skies
hovering above His singing ocean
and He must be written in the sand with broken seashells
washed with velvet foam.
So here I touch the Creator's hand
and I am in awe.

Here I stand as I have stood before, upon
well-trodden turf a thousand have walked
before I came here and rested
in the solitude of charcoaled shadows made from green
and dangling autumn on the edges of ancient trees.

And I know He must be here, sitting high
in their aging branches gazing, it seems
miles to the dusty ground of stones that must spell His name
and His voice is carried in the wind winding through
blue forests- so here I touch the Creator's hand
and I am in awe.

Here I stand as I have stood before, upon
the grassy hill that held the cross and let it stand-
let it remain the center piece of every eye, clouded over
with tears and secret sin.

And I know You must be here, waiting here
for people such as me to come around and recognize
the One who made the tree that made the cross, and bore
the body of broken loveliness greater than what
my eyes have already seen written all over creation.
So here I touch Your hand
and I am forever in awe.