Who knows why you’re praying with such openness—
maybe it’s the bell’s calling, maybe it’s the rising
of quiet new faith. Maybe you’ve filled your whole room
with belief: candles, psalms, blessings, praying hands.
Maybe you think no one can hear you in this small chapel—
but God’s all ears, not a word missed. I don’t think you’d mind me
kneeling by this pew, even if you did, I don’t think you’d hush
your steady voice. I could join you all morning, drawn
in this sure devotion, this clear sudden peace—but it’s more
than just the wonder of hearing you pray as gently as the stream
with its wish to touch stones, it’s about my need to listen,
to stay in this place of trust, to carry into my day
a faithful resolve. Whatever makes you kneel, love, though you
can barely rise from the floor, or bow long without pausing
to rest, may you stay strong, free of doubt, as strong, insistent
as the day’s shining sun—a believer rejoicing, firm with hope.
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