by Gideon Burton
In mighty prayer, soft-pleading past what voice
what kneeling hours in soft petitions task,
my mouth gone dry rewetting all I ask,
my mind in wonder at each mindless choice.
Yet I recall that surging silence, moist
with gracious rain, dissolving every mark
and pretense: peace so full it could not last.
But I remember still thy stilling voice
in mighty prayer not desperate, a beam
of laser-lancing focus, tight, intense,
returning, sober, seeking, thanking, mouthed
and slurred and shouted, spun across my dreams
and waking, waiting for my Healer Friend,
my God, so sudden visible, so loud.
Photo: flickr - Kara Allyson