Among the Things I Do Not Understand

if God is the mighty engine of Newton

or perfect embrace of Saint Teresa

the wellspring of compassion

in Gautama Buddha

or endless reproducing of life

from smallest viral urge.

All I know about most anything

comes from you, good mothers,

such as, one chooses where to cut a sandwich,

the other chooses which half.

But, for the rest of truth,

I only feel a yearning toward it

an obscure steady pull

like an emptiness needing to be filled.