Some pious people go out and catch prayers
like fireflies and put them in a jar
and bring them home and keep them in there
till they die.
But prayers are wild. You don’t “have” them;
you witness them. You hold still for half an hour
and if you’re lucky you see one float by,
or spot one grazing on a far hill.
When you pray, open up a space in you,
a verdant valley where there is life
with lovely copses and dry pits and rocky places,
and sit very still and watch and wait.
You don’t get to choose what passes by.
Just watch. Maybe you’ll see one, briefly.
If not, stay anyway. It’s good just being there.
The Beloved is also there, unseen, watching.
February 24, 2020