If This is How God Paints

If this is how God paints.
If His brush strokes are the green carpet of moss on an Irish rock,
the velvet blue of butterfly wings that caress a tree,
and the liquid peaches of an afternoon sky preparing to sleep
If they are the silver dew clinging to a spider's web,
the fat grays of building storm clouds,
and the black of a starless night when my voice calls
Then it is here,
in the midnight colors,
that I see His hand most.

When I am alone with the chafe of a lonely heart,
and the sores inside that no one can see,
then I remember how stark an artist's canvas is before the painting.
How white a page is before I write upon it.
And I am full of hope. Because perhaps I am a color yet placed,
a word yet read...
and I wonder at the beauty of life yet to come,
If this is how God paints.