What Will You Do Without Me, God?

What will you do, God, when I vanish?
I am not just a creation,
I am the vessel of your meaning.
When I crack – what will spill from the fissure?
When I dry up – with what will you quench the silence?

I was your mantle,
You wore me at night like a memory,
I covered your shoulders
When the Universe breathed with fading.

When I am gone –
You will be naked before the void.
And not one of your angels
Will dare to name you.

I was the touch –
The whisper that met you at the door.
No one else will say “be” to you,
Gently, habitually, like a breath.

I was that word
That was not yet born, but was always in You.
Your feet that sought rest –
I was the earth for them.
You walked within me, as if in a memory,
And your every step ached like an echo in my ribs.

You will not find me on the stones of strangers.
You will not call out. For I am not silent – I have died.
And your sight, accustomed to seeing light within me,
Will now strike against the night.

What will you do without me, God?
I am your last prayer and your first fear.
So tell me…
When I vanish – will You not vanish too?