I spoke with God today,
Out in the Ocean off of Brigantine New Jersey specifically,
near the south jetty.
God said storm clouds
and sheets of rain,
Whipping West winds and swells high as trees.
God said seagulls hung in the slate-gray sky
like kites over the Ocean
And blasts of arctic spray on my back,
and the Taste
of salt in my mouth.
I said tears and hoots
wordless howls and hollers.
I laughed and coughed up lungfulls of that batismal water
and let those winds rip through my salt-stiff hair.
I gave my body to the water
I let it throw me and bury me
Destroy me, if that was what God desired.
Yet God said a wet Marco stumbling out onto the beach,
smiling like a lunatic.
God happened to be eating at the same pinelands barbecue pit as I,
for I saw God in the faces of old wrinkled laughing African-American men and women,
and in the children playing in the sandy parking lot
among the pine cones and dried needles.
I saw God again that night, in the light of the setting sun
reflecting off of the sign for Route 40
and in the fireworks in the summer night
Exploding over the Pine Barrens
and in a flipped over Jeep on the side of the road,
flaming and spitting out smoke.
It’s been some kind of day