Every morning
he forgot her name, who she is.

Every morning
he opened his eyes, and
he looked at her, and
for just a couple of seconds
(before he once again remembered)
he wondered

if she is
(if she has always been)
God.

*Artwork is from here: http://heatherhorton.com/category/surfacing-new-paintings-by-heather-horton-november-2012/

**For more poems by Alex Antonopoulos, please visit his website: http://www.alexantonopoulos.com