One Thing Or the Other

When I let the mind wander,
God gets in the cracks between thoughts.
Crumbs crumbling away
in the space between moods—
There is buildup; there is residue.

Something cannot be ignored;
some things cannot be shaken loose—
like kin or a knife or a noose,
more than a good thing
is too much of anything.

And fixing the wheel on the wagon,
   on grandpa's old wagon,
      on grandpa's old car in the oily garage
is just nursing a memory of a memory
of grandpa and God and grease-caked harmony:

Half is half and half as much again
is never more than a hole.

Many hopes and sad sights,
Many words in dim lights,
just journaled notes of many, many nights,

and all of a type.

It's all one thing or the other...

Probably the other.