Pocket God
       

If you come to that moment of cold ache
where you rub your hands together for warmth, and God
is a faded photograph
in the back pocket of your jeans,

where his forehead seems extra creased,
and his arms are slightly crumpled
between crisp bills in your father's
hand-me-down wallet,

take out the picture.
Unfold it like a map.

Smooth it out on a table, carefully.
Watch as He spreads Himself across the horizon
like the sun's countenance.

Study the face intently,
the way one would look into the Law,
or peer down at a star chart,

and follow it home.

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Copyright © 2022 Amy L. George All rights reserved
from Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission