If I could talk to God on a misty morning,
I would remind him that humans are beautiful
and blind and deaf to the perfection of ourselves.
I would beg him for a sign, a language, sign language
to help us remember what our heart cries daily.
We could communicate the intangibles with curled fingers.
I would not ask for peace, or love, or money but understanding.
I would not ask to see or hear because sometimes the truth is bitter
I would ask only for a sign. A language to filter our spirits.