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The Proof of God

Poetry by Mike Finley

Is in the breath so simple.
Breathe in, breathe out,
Then tell where one begins
And the other ends.
Or tell me it was you
Who gave instructions to the lungs,
"I have inhaled enough, old friend,
Now it's time to let it go."
The truth is, it happens
And it happens again,
Over and over, every minute
We are alive, a Möbius loop
Of oxygen and carbon
That is just exactly
What we require,
Not an advanced degree
in gas hydraulics, a bird

On a branch is as competent as that.
Mechanics call this device
A governor, and it governs us
Without our being aware,
And it is everywhere,
In every cell and every blink
And every balanced process
That there is.
And you can say
That's no old man with a beard
But I say well it's something
And it keeps us going day to day,
A will to order that provides us
But you need not believe to draw air,
It is given, and there is no moment
When we are free from this
Casual miracle,
This tap on the shoulder
That says here, friend,
See what you can do.

§ § §

Mike Finley lives and writes whatever he likes in Saint Paul, Minnesota. Visit him at Mike Finley's Future Shoes

Reprinted from Ink Pot #6; available now

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