Standing two hours before dawn 
on the flat roof over the back porch,
on something that could be a balcony
if my wife’s husband could be convinced
to attach a railing of some kind
that would keep kids from inadvertently
experimenting with gravity,
somehow thinking 
that falling really fast is actually “flying.”

I watch in silent wonder
at a harvest moon two nights past full
backlighting drifting clouds
in their thin-veiled shrouds
as they drift toward the south
and just slightly east.

It is no wonder to me
that those who do not know its Maker
worship the moon,

No wonder that those
who do not know The One
who set its limits
might kneel beside the ocean
or stand on mountain bluffs above the surf
and worship the things made rather than The Maker.

I take them as no less heathen or idolatrous
than those who worship money, power, fame, or sex.
It seems actually a bit less of a stretch
to worship what so clearly seems 
more powerful,
more grand,
more great
than those things that so clearly beget
such corruption, 
such neglect of friend and family,
such saturation of self and ego,
such abandonment of principle.

Watching the mesmerizing changes
of shape and shadow,
light and color in a shifting sky,
I remember that I, too,
am pulled to things that do not bring good
and like the ancient apostle
am often drawn to do other than what I should.

And so, today,
I will confess to Him Who Made Me
that the only good I find in me
is what He has placed
and I will try to live a quiet and peaceful life,
and leave to others the strife of judging
lest I be judged.