Apotheosis

When I was a boy,
god was a bearded old man,
an un-come-at-able father keeping a
list of naughty and nice.

In my prodigal youth,
god was a submissive son,
who chose obedience over individuation,
born again over grown up.

When I grew up,
god became a long-legged goddess,
breathlessly beautiful and
mellifluously mine on moon-lit nights.

After the war,
god was a grim reaper,
bleeding my world of art, leaves
and common sense.

Now,
with the years piled up like pages in a book,
god is a mother
birthing and nursing our times together
and apart.

Only she knows,
when the time comes to say goodbye,
what separation we are meant to bear?