God paints with lightning.
His own chapel ceiling, by day,
a blue canvas, by night, the blackest
This night, he muses freedom.
His stampeding horses thunder
through white-capped mountains.
In flashes, they appear, and whip
their manes fiercely. Billowing
steam from flared nostrils,
God’s horses are running free
from one side of creation
and into the deep blue sea.
©️ CGT, 2018.