I never found your god.

It is the early hours of the morning and I have remembered that I am godless.

---

I remember days in a tin ship that you and I went exploring, through Blackheath, and secret lookouts in Katoomba. You dug your worn fingers into grooves of rock faces and climbed all over the goddamn place. Pulled yourself close, and held on for dear life to those products of nature's wearing. A gift from your god, you'd probably think to yourself, as you'd grasp at a new hold. I would always wonder, "a hold on what?" I would search the stone cliffs at our horizons and find beauty in the moment. You'd find it in the material.

I don't exactly remember the moment I began to carve you from the marble. I chiseled to find the refined jaw, and admirable features. I carved you as my David. I built your plinth and excavated the floor from under you, flinging myself to my knees at the bottom. All I saw was the light, and all I felt was cold stone. You said I was godless. Your Delilah. No intent toward a god filled life. I believe those were the words. I cut from you, your strength. You could never have been more wrong. I just never found your god.

---

I now find myself comfortable in my agnosticism.

amongst the thousands

I wish to be astounding.
The brightest star
amongst the thousands.
Alive in my well wishes,
my sympathies,
my congratulations.
Little fingers would point
into the black
at the light
and ask: [with a whisper]

"Who is she?"

And their fathers will reply,
children high on their shoulders

"She? She is astounding."