Without words, prayer falls formless
and void; we must speak
light to scare chaotic thought
into patterns, comforting,
familiar as poppies
in the hedgerow –
the spirit sighs
deeply.
Without prayer, words usurp God,
creating worlds of their own imagination
But when words and prayer collide,
ever-expanding, infinite energy –
still
the ash falls soft,
smudging the spirit so that
it peers through the blasted prayer
as though through a glass,
dimly.
First published at the Episcopal Cafe
over the water 