I have been looking for The Lord.

You see, it goes like this:

This morning I woke up and opened the blinds
Hoping to find The Lord out there,
Grinning, glowing, whatever.
But no, there was no Lord.

At work, sometimes I go into other people's offices
And I ask them, I ask
"Would you like to come with me
To the church across the street,
So that we can find The Lord?"
They have all said no.
They have all shaken their heads.

And later I am walking, I am walking and walking and walking,
And along my way I pull at people's coats and ask
"Are you The Lord?"
They all say no. They walk away.

And once I saw a friend from college, I met her on the street.
We hugged and chummed and promised things, and I said
"Do you know how I could go about finding Jesus?"
She said "Jesus?"
There followed a long, long silence
Which sparked a rotten chain between us both.
The winds on 2nd Avenue tossed
Soily questions at her face and mine.
What wrong had I said?
I turned and left that silence there,
Remember now that stirring in her eyes.

There have been other things.
I heard The Lord announce the news last month on 1010 WINS radio.
I felt The Lord squeezing my stomach once as I drove 112 miles per hour.
I saw The Lord sitting and smiling at me from atop an awning on 98th Street.
I think I felt The Lord in my breath and in my eyes once when I got into a cab.
And once on York Avenue I saw The Lord standing at the bottom of a big hole.

Once, in Times Square, with my friend Dwayne,
I think I saw The Lord under the big TV.
I could not describe It to you if I had all the words in the world.
I shook Dwayne's shoulder, shouting "Look, it's The Lord!"
But when Dwayne turned around, The Lord was
Vanquished into the road like an emptied barrel of oil.

While driving past a church I asked the person with me,
"Could you run in there and see if you can find The Lord real quick?"
She seemed distracted, and refused.
And so I parked the car, left the engine running,
Dashed into the cathedral to see if The Lord was there.
But The Lord was never in any church in any city at any time,
And I have seen a thousand churches, hundreds of cities, across all times.
~ Sometimes I am jerked awake at night, and I think
"Was it The Lord that woke me?"
And other times I can not sleep, and so I think
"It must be The Lord keeping me up."

I walked into a library once and thought out loud
"It feels just like The Lord is here."
But no, The Lord was not in that library
Reading magazines or killing time.
I do not know where The Lord was that day,
But certainly not with me.

And once on the bus I swear I felt The Lord walk in.
I stood up and looked around in angst.
"Is it you? Are you The Lord?" I asked a man.
"Are you The Lord?" I asked a little girl.
"You? Are you The Lord?" I asked a blind old lady.
None of them replied, and they were not The Lord.
I do not think I know The Lord. I don't know where It is, or where It lives.
It is not in the phone book, It is not in the kitchen, It is not in the rug.
If you also are looking for The Lord, do not look in the Empire State Building,
Because the Lord is not there.
Do not look in the United Nations,
Because I looked there, and found no Lord.
No need to check Tiffany's or Coney Island,
Don't bother Trump, and forget about this poem --

I have looked in all these places, and have not found The Lord

But every day the same thing occurs:
I am with someone, or by myself, and a funky itching whips me.
I look into my mailbox and think I see The Lord.
I tap someone on the shoulder and ask "Are you The Lord?
Do you know where I could find The Lord? Have you found The Lord?"
Every day, I tell you, the same things occur and occur.
So do not mind me if I ask you for The Lord.
If you have not found It, simply say so, and I will walk along.

I long to say "Hey look! That's It! The Lord!"
And leap in exaltation, shouting in accord.

Maybe today I'll turn on a light, and there will be The Lord --
Shining, bright, whatever.
Maybe tonight I'll sit by the river and
The Lord will come and talk with me.

Or maybe tonight some beasts from Mars will glory me away in a flying machine,
Or maybe St. Peter in his craft will pluck me from this earth and fill me with Heaven.
Then I will know The Lord has seen me all along, and sees me wandering now,
Numb and gaping, body stopped and stranded, desperately looking to the skies.