If God Were a Painter

If God were a painter, the sunset would be his masterpiece, 

The sky his canvas, 

The atoms his colors, 

The sunlight his brush.  

To begin the day he’d mix them on a pallet 

To form frequencies of light.  

When the sun rises, his colors would be everywhere, 

The clouds formless and random.  

He’d attempt to make order out of his work 

By bringing them together in focus, near noon, 

Filling the sky blue, shaping the clouds

Into new ideas for creation,

So that the ones already created

Could watch the skies 

Wondering what each new cloud looked like.  

But then his roaming eye, the sun, would start to fade 

After realizing he cannot maintain form.  

At dusk, the fading eye would smear the paint, 

Setting fire to the colors, 

Signaling his sister moon to rise in place, 

Who’d draw the visions of more distant stars,

In dreams,

With the brush she borrowed.  

At the relay, for one sweet moment, they’d be whole,

They’d have finished another day, another painting.