Is it You, O Lord?

Someone beside me,
Someone in my mind,
A face, entangled
Among my uncollected thoughts.
I can not remember you;
Nor see you with clarity.
Who are you?
Memory is a river that returns
To gather what it left behind.
On the other side of memory
Is my immeasurable forgetfulness.
And in forgetfulness,
I long to gather,
Those unremebered faces and
Long forgotten names.
But of you,
I can not say I remember.
And also,
I can not say I do not.
Between remembering
And forgetting,
My thoughts are like
A multitude of sunflowers,
Suspended in an abandoned sky,
A sky abandoned by
The vagrant sun.
Although,
All I can say
Is very much limited by
My finite recollections,
You always seem to stand,
Here and there, and everywhere;
Amorphous and crystalline,
Opaque and transparent,
Infinite but also full of irony.
Who are you?
Are You I am that I am?
Is it really You, O Lord?