I stand on this ridge

seeing until Appalachian boulders

are swallowed by mist.

Bagpipes, sounds from some movie,

play in my memory, a reminder

that loneliness has a sound.

I zip my jacket, tighten my hood.

Even winter dies

eventually.

I have seen God
across from my desk
with yellow dye in her hair
and a baby in her belly.

I saw him in the grocery,
a hump on his back,
from years of osteoporosis,
and withered hands too feeble
for pushing carts.

He is a beggar,
wearing disguises and
searching earth for hope,
for faith, but mostly
for compassion.