In Lieu Of Sitting Down to Pray...
What is the verb for
prayer? In our entreating,
is it really the
words? Or is it the eyes--the gazing,
their absent minded
closing thus losing of our sense
of time. Is it
desiring--but how do we know what we're
honestly wanting?
With the perpetually--in this life--
unreached deep, it
is for now the losing, the silencing
of ourselves and all
we think we know--and finally the lingering,
the something to be
late for left rudely waiting, still waiting.
The words, we always
knew, were far from good enough, but
they serve. A shanty
twine-tied raft--tied by broken fingers--
to cross this wrath
of holy Ocean. Surely, somewhere
hiding under the supplies,
there is a sleeping Christ.
And as we set our
words, ourselves, to water, He will arise,
set His words to the
tide, or take us on foot to the other side.
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