In Every Place

In every place 

He is

He took me to a high place,

And showed me,

Over the contours of my kingdom,

My corner of the county,

The small stretch of a score of miles,

In which I live out the majority of my life,

In the basin,

And over the valley,

Where the wind whistles,

On the peaks,

And above,

Amidst clouds,

In clear skies,

Behind the wing,

Above the bird's back

All about it

And far, far off,

And every space in-between,

The camera is rolling,

And always was,

Our lives go on beneath him,

Within him,

And he within,

Cars and busses, busy on their way,

As they pass through he is with them,

And he remains with them,

Until they reach their destination,

Even if it is The other side of the country,

And yet he never leaves this place,

The camera is still rolling here,

And when tomorrow morning,

I rise early with the thought of this poem,

He is still here,

In the darkness,

As the larks wake,

And there he is too with the poet,

In his head,

And surrounding his half clad body,

And in the space between his fingers,

And the keys,

As they repeatedly drum on the squares,

That send the signals, 

That tell his computer to display the letters they encase,

Upon his screen,

The ones you are reading right now,

And not only is he there between the poets fingers and letters,

But he is with you,

And he is still here,

Hovering over the valley,

Filling the space 

Between hills and blood cells alike

And in every lonely place

In every corner and nook,

On mountain tops,

In desert,

Across vast tundra,

Over waters,

Beneath the ice,

In every space an eye could see,

And in the eye itself

The camera never stops rolling,

He is

Existing

Wild and free

And we

Have only just arrived

In his eternity