Delight comes in parentheses,
whenever life's relentless syntax
cracks and you can see God waiting.
Delight is where you part from plans
mid-plan and depart out the hole
in the whole you thought you'd built.
Delight's the exit from our sentence
and is itself a little death, just like
all our comings, all becoming,
and maybe even second comings.
(Every second, one thing's going
just as another's coming.)