You once said that when you finally touched God,

there was nothing left to say.

I try to enter God’s room through the invisible door of silence but there is so much still to touch: fleece blankets and a bear’s nose, glacial water and a salmon’s tail, young moss, wet paint, tomorrow.

“I would not think to touch the sky with two arms,” sang Sappho. There are so many things I am not brave enough for. Each day the geese carve the sky’s …