from Holy the Firm
Annie Dillard

Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, splintered down and wrapped in time like a husk, a husk of many colors spreading, at dawn fast over the mountains split.

I wake in a god. I wake in arms holding my quilt, holding me as best they can inside my quilt.

I open my eyes. The god lifts from the water. His head fills the bay.  He is Puget Sound, the Pacific, his breast rises from pastures, his fingers are firs, islands slide wet down his shoulders. Islands slip blue from his shoulders and glide over the water, the empty, lighted water like a stage.
Today’s god rises, his long eyes flecked in clouds. He flings his arms, spreading colors, he arches, cupping sky in his belly, he vaults, vaulting and spread, holding all and spread on me like skin.