the foxes are having a wedding

turn off the flash
i said to god as he snapped a 
picture of me pulling back into
the driveway last night. he's so
damn sentimental sometimes with
the thunder & the polaroids. 
i wasn't looking very photogenic,
but then again, who is?
all yesterday, he knelt down from
a fickle cloud, telling me i should 
visit home more. you didn't notice
even though his voice is booming
& nothing like my father's. that was
when you said that sometimes they
say "the foxes are having a wedding"
when there's sun showers like that.
adding that they also say "the devil
is beating his wife." i prefer the
foxes but i assume that both are
happening at the same time. back in bed 
with the lights out i asked god what
he does with the photographs. he lamented 
that despite his best efforts to plan 
the lives of humans that he regretted 
how short he made things. he snapped 
another photograph & the clouds rumbled
like boulder aching against boulder.
he said he was just getting to know
me & already i don't say my prayers &
already i don't pose for pictures.
still, he pins the photographs on the
wall at the far end of his bedroom above
his desk-- a wall infinitely tall & wide
& it's still not big enough to fit us all.
he frustrated me, peering in the window
what with all the things he could be doing
to fix the world. i often hear people
my age ask if there is a god, then why
is the world like this?
he's out there, i know, trying to make 
me last longer. afflicted with nostalgia;
that's where i get that from. 
there's so much right now to take in.
after all, the foxes had a wedding today.
the devil beat his wife, which was,
as we know, not out of the ordinary.