Grace and Peace to you.
Mist, a mass of light, curtain of the temple,
shrouds the lake in unknowing.
The far shore has withdrawn into its chambers.
The holy water closes its eyes.
The water is smooth as the mind of God.
All above is perfectly reflected below.
Tiny prayer rugs, yellow and red, rest on the surface,
stilled in deep meditation.
The little island stands alone in the mist, prayer shawl
about its shoulders, down to its knees.
Five swans process slowly, disturbing nothing,
do not need wings, do not need robes.
Once in a while the veils lifts and you see
the world never stops praying for you.
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