the moon this morning was amazing
hanging low in the red sky
behind crossed bars and stilled cables
of cranes in shipyards blocks but worlds away

with no camera
i try in vain to capture this with words
pull it down with spines and stems and serifs
wrap it tight
hold it close
breathe it in
but pictures can prove as weak as words
thin-barred prisons for moments that capture me

old women in the subway
detritus on the street
steeples in the skyline
all ask me
where is my god
there is my god
in the rounded down stone that marches around us
in the deadened cranes and failed words and lost photographs
in the quiet of brooklyn at 6AM
in the beauty of the ordinary
there is my god
there is my god