God looks upon us and perhaps he sees
a trembling leaf folding in the rain
He sees, in all of our capability, a fragility.
We are dying in clusters now, laying low
and allowing fear to make us mean and disparaging
toward one another, as we try to make sense
of the senseless, we try to give voice to our limping hope.
In the distant horizon is a sun-sized moon and remembrance
of when we could run and when we believed so big in ourselves,
thinking we believed in God.
I think I will stand before God tonight with all of my wrinkles,
with make-up off, and I will celebrate the end of me that is
the beginning of God; my weaknesses that lay bare like open
trees, my voice cracking and soft and devoid of meaning.
Perhaps we can become like prayer, vacuous sounds that rise up
into a blank sky, that tell us nothing, yet fill us and equip us
to accept and to love and to heal.