Why do you find it strange that you can hide your face from God?
A tiny cloud can block the sun—do you find that odd?
It’s easy to hide from God—him to whom you ran
Is now him you run from—you, the same sweet woman, he the same sweet man.
You find love, which costs nothing, and is your greatest joy, one day,
And before the night, with ecstasy come, you throw it all away.
Why do you find it strange that God can disappear
In one act of unkindness, and now nothing that is God seems here,
From birds flying above, to your own nose wet with a tear?
How can all this love go away in an instant? Isn’t that odd?
And then you view a poem, a mere poem. And feel the return of God.
