The cool stillness
of the morning abbey
soaks the prayers into
me as warmth and heat.
There is a pause, here;
there is a pause
between the words,
between the lines
of mourning;
the lines of prayer;
the lines of beseeching.
I used to think the words were the
prayer; today, and perhaps
through all time,
it is the pause.
No comments:
Post a Comment