Between the inhale and the exhale
lies a house where God dwells.
He rests in the lull after
the prayer and before the amen,
and curls up in the darkness
between the match strike and the flame.
He reclines in the crevice
made by gently-held hands
as well as in the instant
between eye-close and kiss.
Sometimes He hides in the furrows
among ripples on a pond
or in the head of a candle snuffer—
yellow glow turned to smoke.
Even a ubiquitous God
has His favorite hiding places
where He prefers to spend time
while he’s also everywhere else.