Parts of Speech

   God is not an interference,
 
       some extra object
 
       clotting with dark
 
       among the branches of maples.
 
 
 
 Or kicked up with the dust,
 
       mote in an attic beam
 
       of spring-cleaning sun,
 
 
 
 or conjured up in the gray
 
       of a man's head.
 
 
 
 But in the red 
 
       of a woman's womb,
 
 God becomes blood
 
       and muscle and mortar of bone,
 
 
 
       the spoken, written conjunction
 
 which fastens maple and beam,
 
       mote and mind, maid and man.