It does good. Not
does, perhaps in the sense
we understand it:
sitting or kneeling, eyes closed,
in silence, hands folded, is, after all
the opposite of doing –
we all run slow, or judder
erratically. Prayer is a reset,
a synching to grace.
It does good and it works.
Busy prayer, like a solitary bee
all pollen and sweetness,
and logical impossibility.
Prayer of the faithful, humming
like hives in summertime,
describing golden honey;
your gift of it’s a mercy.
The good work of prayer
spread over the day’s
dry bread; the knuckle of it
in the night –
the grit and sting –
the riven rock –
its answering.