Perhaps the Word of God is a hapax legomenon
Waiting for us in the dark of the night,
The kiss of the wind as it sighs by our ears.
The one Word, only one, only once, a hapax
In time and space, anchored there and strong.
All around it flows the else, always moving
To the beginning at the end of the end.
The Word just waits.
We’ll find it. We’ll say it.
And nothing will happen.
We’ll say the word again, louder.
Now it’s no longer a hapax.
God has moved on.