Signature

The wind is invisible until we see it twist
an American flag, float
dandelion spores across a field, lift 
a home with her hands and smash 
the beloved building to pieces.

Belief behaves this way too
impossible to see with the naked eye
yet capable of great beauty or 
mass destruction. 

Sometimes, I am not sure what I believe 
In the mountains, I know God is real.
In the suburbs, God is money, cars, 
travel baseball. 

I confess, I search Google 
more often than I open
my Bible. Not just, Why can’t I
stay asleep at night? or What’s the best
school for gifted children?
Existential questions, too: How do I stop 
wanting things? Has anyone ever
seen God?

A kite can’t travel without a gust lifting 
her higher and farther.
How can I notice where the Spirit’s taken me?
By looking back for signs
of movement?

// A version of this poem first appeared in Issue 28 of Part-Time Poets.