A favorite poem of prose.

[prometheisbound]

    "Events unfold in ways that make us think of God.  They achieve, in their happening, a symmetry and order that would be frightening if assigned to Chance.  Things that happen here intersect with things that happen elsewhere, as if there were a plan.  Coincidence makes way for correlation which, in its turn, bespeaks the intimate consortium of cause and effect--first in whispers, then in the full blushless voice of certainty: because it says, because.  Eventually everything is suspect: I wash the car, it rains; she wears that perfume, he is dizzy with desire; as long as you whistle that tune no tigers appear.  Ironies? Happenstance? Or is it that tune that keeps the tigers at bay?  The finger of fate or of fate's Maker that taps, deliberately, those dominoes, the tipping of which, down the ages, is history."

-Thomas Lynch "Words Made Flesh"