You Are

You are not a garden god
Smiling cross-legged in the rain
Under a backyard bush.

You are not two precisely
Measured eye-sockets
In a computerized
Security camera's scan
Of a passing crowd.

You are not a print
On my wall,
Or a snap-shot
On my media card.

You are a masterpiece,
Every cell of you busy
With self-sustaining,
Self-replicating
Industry
Only a creator could set
In the motion of you.

Sadly so fragile a thing,
Even a video cam,
Followed back to its inspiration,
Or a garden god
With it's chubby smile,
Can diminish,
Despise, and destroy.

Put away the pixels and paint,
The brass, marble and ivory.

Let me be amazed at your individual life,
Uninterpreted by art, philosophy, or technology.

Let me be amazed
By what its busy firmament
shows me of Him.