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Poetry

I’m going to pray with my whole body.
               I don’t mean snake-handling
sanctifications in a wood’s hollow nor torso-rolling,
     arm-waving hollering on a carpeted aisle.
                       No, God of dark matter

and everything in between, I’m going to concentrate
                      every particle of my being,
each neuron-strumming molecule, each cell
           pitching and sliding beneath the cloak
                                 of my skin

in a rib-tingling, knuckles-humming, heart-tilting
               quiet-fire-in-the-throat prayer:
make of this flesh-in-air a window seen through
         to that countenance of love shining
                      its ordinary face.

 


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