which god do I thank
for this whistle and tickle of wind
quiet air torrenting my nostrils’ wide corridors
the beginning and end of tread
in whose name do I bless
the rolling-in-remarkable motion
the scent before rain the summer crickets heard and
not seen stars too close to be true
I was taught to search for a god in the sky
but she cannot be found behind clouds
and the clones I see miming her image
looking is how I remember
she is all things
not one give thanks
By Kalvin Cummings
Kalvin Cummings is an emerging writer and a full-time social worker. He is currently pursuing an M.A.R. in Religion and Literature at Yale Divinity School. He lives in New Haven, Connecticut, where he enjoys birdwatching in his free time.