Without
praying I plead with You,
Begging
for a sign, a blazed tree,
Though
I think I understand that You
Resist
such magic and burrow instead
Into
the crooked crevices of the imagination,
Into
the little risks that move huge stones.
Without
watching I look for You,
Half-expecting
You to direct my gaze,
Half-expecting
You to speak my language;
But Yours
is hidden in burning bushes,
In inconvenient
plagues of locusts, frogs,
And,
yes, in Cana’s water, once water, now wine.
Without
understanding I step toward You,
Hoping
in my bewilderment that You
Hear my
unprayed prayers, and
Knowing
in my uncertain soul that You
Have
work for me to do, and to love,
In the
haunted and holy vineyard of my here and now.
DGJ
10.28.19
Dover, NH
