On some pages of the Bible

whisper-thin

if you circle the word love

a dozen pairs of eyes

stare back at you in silence.

Words do not accomplish what they say,

or they'd be portals to another air.

The wind, bulling through the windows

for a storm,

is his voice, buffeting

as if letters,

sounds and syllables.

Whenever I leave church

I wonder which part of God to follow--

the word or that which bellows from it