If God is good, and if the weather holds,
and if the horse comes in, we might allow
a glint of teeth between a face’s folds—
a smile that promises, at least for now,
that God is good, and that the weather holds.

If life is chance, if chaos is our lot,
and if the math can’t quite be reconciled
—even with itself—then what we’ve got
is probability. But dice fly wild,
since life is chance, and chaos is our lot.

If she were near, and I could hear the sound
of placid breathing up against my ear,
her reassuring sleep might bring to ground
the migratory urge that brought me here
if she were near, if I could hear the sound.

If God were good, and if the sky stayed blue,
and she were here, and all the numbers fit,
and all the things that I believe were true,
would I notice, even for a bit,
that God is good, and that the sky stays blue?