Staring at Dahlias on Sunday [an epiphany]

by David James

If there is a God, she must
be in this flower and this cool wind
blowing in my face, the massive clouds
drifting overhead against a blue I can’t name.

There’s the seventeen yellow beans
I picked for dinner, just
enough to cook with the three tomatoes and four carrots
from the garden.

There’s the sun shining on your face
as you close your eyes and fall asleep,
dreaming of a pool of stardust
that you wade through, collecting light
in your cupped hands.

How can I not believe when there are
so many miracles here—the swallows diving,
the moon in a maple tree, the stars’ cold and silent hush?

---

Born and raised on the third coast, Michigan, David James has published seven books and has had more than thirty of his one-act plays produced.