I may have
heard the voice of God in heart shaped
tumbles of Poplar leaves, their swirling
pathways of gold, in that certain way
the rain hangs in orbed jewels
along wet branches, in my warm dog curling
into my side just as I fall asleep,
in his lips against my eyelids,
his turning back to say goodbye.
And in the way snow covers a tired earth
in a whispered apology, I may have…
Lesley-Anne Evans
