my bird flies away

i am holy ... so you be holy.
(snow crunching underfoot, heart palpating)
but i'm an artist, i want to express myself
to create as you do to join in the whole beautiful process.
(wind in ears, cars whizzing by, God's breath on my neck)
i am the Creator; you are the creation.
(creation nearly collapses, collects herself, keeps running)
What about everyone whom I told I was getting a tattoo?
who are you serving; me or them?
(jagged branches catch my hair i scramble away from this voice of conviction)
i am the only one who's equipped to make the
permanent decisions in your life.
(God plants his foot before me, makes me trip, shudder, stop)

and the tattoo bird i've clung to struggles free in the morning air, flies back

to its Creator