I Read Job to Be Reminded

It is not God I should accuse
but us:

We were not there
when You laid the foundation
when You set the cornerstone.

We are flawed
with our cracked clay feet,
unfit for keeping.

Fallen.

I read Job to understand awe:

We had no voices, yet
or throats,
when the stars sang
and the angels cried out

to learn God answers
questions
with more questions.

Worship is how we kneel
and admit it was not us
that laid the foundations,

that it is angels that shout
not us. Our brass tongues
clang discord
instead of sounding joy.

We have never ordered the morning
or shown the sunrise its place.

That smith of mountains
and mammoths
has more patience for us
than we for Him–

how we lose that path
over and  over
in that hunt for things
we think we need.

We have not traveled
to the springs of the sea.

How we tear…