Sometimes

I ramble on

when I talk to God

until a question falls out

Neither of us,

God nor I,

realize that my question is rhetorical

until He takes a breath

to begin His reply

Quickly,

my hand goes up;

it makes a stop sign.

Butterflies of panic

flutter inside!

The man by the pool of Bethesda

comes to mind

perched on the edge

to be the first

to get in

when the angel

stirs the water

so he will be healed.

As he sits and waits,

Jesus comes and asks,

“Do you wish to be well?”

And, I wonder

Why?

I don’t want to hear

the answer

to my question

just yet