Creating a God

I am still determining who You are. This is similar to religion.
You do not have to be bone under flesh under clothes;
You can be the questions I ask when I am the only one in the room.
If I were to take a picture of what I thought You might be,
it would be an empty library or perhaps a view of
an overgrown garden. I believe You are both.
You are overflowing in Your presence and so void of words.

The first time I walk into a bar, I will order something carbonated
and hear You in the fizzing of the glass. I will swirl You around
to listen to Your honest prophetic verses. I will scribe these later;
others will agree with raised palms and preach. Maybe
I am not alone in this world of silence; we are all under the same roof
of a chapel, worshipping the faint hissing of bubbly champagne.

However, I do not know how to share You with the world.
You are more personal than an unexplainable miracle
or a near-death experience. I do not know 
how to capture Your testaments and turn You into sentience,
nor do I know which foot to step with first.
All I know, all my faith, lies in the notion that You might exist.
This is enough, even if I will never know Your name.