Affair
The Paraclete fulfills all spaces, space,
A flooding God, a tidal wave, a spate
Of infinitely surging, soaking grace
In every place susceptible to hate,
Wherever gaps could harbor darkness, long
As light-years, eons, or as small as quarks.
There ghostly beauty serenades—his song
A symphony of love’s cascading sparks.
God’s room is absence, Dillard says, but there
He meets us, brings the homeless to their home.
No table in the universe is bare
And every angstrom, distance has a dome.
His absence is a presence everywhere,
Like Heloise and Abelard’s despair.