I believe
God spoke
to me when
I was young,
but now all
is silence.

Thomas said
the echoes
return slow,
but it was still
his voice

obscured
by the jagged
rocks on shore.
If God can

take the form
of the air

we breathe,
wait for echoes

to whisper love.

* Originally appeared in Awaiting the Images. This is a slight modification to the structure.