Poem From The Heavens

I wonder if this is how God sees us,
specks of peach amid his green creation.

I wonder if, when we pray,
he plays Where's Waldo with all the houses with matching roofs,
looking for the weeping voice among the sea of words.

I wonder if, when he sees the crash coming,
he hopes for the best — for the taxi to swerve left
and the sedan to slam on its brakes —
and cries as the cabbie pummels into the small family
while talking on his cell phone.

I wonder if, when we see him face to face,
he'll hold us up like a tiny figurine in his palm,
lifting his hand to the tip of his nose,
squinting hard to see our details, and think,
"Hmm, just as I imagined she would be."