for Mary Szybist, and after Rilke

God is in the space at the hub of the wheel,
but God is not only there.

I think the spokes are like the little bridges
we have built into God’s domain,

spun of almost nothing so they float,
thinner than thought, among canyons

and mountains, oceans and creatures,
worlds and stars and galaxies without bound.

Those who feel their way along these bridges
cannot go very far, and once they have tried

they can never come all the way back.
But they do not seem to mind.