The Studio

While you wait for god, god waits for you.
She waits in rooms of grief and glory,
Where pieces of leftover lives are heaving,
All brought to rest at that forgotten place
At the top of the stairs,
At the end of the hall,
Where the multiple, miniscule outcasts of our time together
Slowly rise.

Separated by color,
Sorted by knob and valve and thing,
Why they were lost remains a mystery;
(Why was this left behind? Or that?)
And why they were found does, too.

All we know is that the weight of all of this –
The sheer volume of the many losses –
All the precious bits discarded by the churn of time —

All we know is that each one was chosen
And waits to be honored,
To return to the world again;
A new configuration found
In rooms of grief and glory.