One Prayer

These knees bend and fall to the earth under the weight of lone­li­ness though my brother and my sis­ter are a step away, they bend and they fall, the knees. It is an hon­est weight, the aloneness.

These clasped hands hold each other until they might touch the untouch­able. These open and raised hands describe in the air, bounty fill­ing my heart, com­ing to me through the upraised fun­nel of these arms. They rep­re­sent the hope of bounty, the upraised hands, even though my unknow­ing heart was full already.

This offer­ing, the money, is the dim reflec­tion of my brim­ming and golden heart of love.

This build­ing, altars and golden win­dows and rows of us, unlook­ing at one another, stands for a vil­lage we dream of cre­at­ing: a place in the round to see each other as we are, in the muck of a Tues­day, for instance. It is as sim­ple as a cir­cle, the village.

These flags snap in the wind in place of words unsayable
These flags snap in the wind in place of words unsayable