I close my eyes and try
to approach the throne of God, but in my mind
I see gilt leaves and brocade.
No God that made me
would ever sit there
like the pair of cardinals
on my backyard fence.
In them, I sense something holy;
holy enough for a dozen white dress Sundays.
I offer them shreds for their mulberry nest
and leave the rest
of the paper unread.
For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads