God is a thigh. God is an arm. God is a neck. God is a slender nose. God is a bun of long brown hair bound-up for domestic affairs. God is a human. A human is God. The flesh, the muscle tone, the backhand to wipe away sweat. God is a woman scrubbing the floor. God is her husband sanding new hardwood. God is the thought of each other’s body. A stop, a wipe of the brow, a leaning back toward the heels, taking a little weight off the knees. God is the small smile on two sets of parted lips. God is the encounter between servants upon reaching home.