The Wayward and the Treasured

Why doesn’t God talk to me?
Why would God talk to me?
God must not be in season.
God must be between the layered eggs,
the trophy condoning the wayward preach-horn,
the stalling of the ceremony,
like life-giving grace, the afterthought
of all metered concerns, stopping for a moment
to task us to death in a stubborn country.
God must have meant to talk to me
seeing no one else would be so bold to respond.