Arrow Prayer

On this blue-sky day oh Lord help me remember what the sky is for: to open. Open then the door, look up within me (because I know You are in and through and beyond but also here below the sky, here under the too-familiar skin). Abduct me from my tiny high-walled world throw me into galaxies of others where, black-holed, oxygen-starved, vacuum-gutted, a million million souls drift through chaotic stardust.         * I climb, I climbed ten stories high, to catch the dying swansong of the day; if I look down my mind tumbles me from vertigo to certain death; if I look up the concrete monsters tower above me still; but I look clear and straight ahead - my eyes push aside all interference, seeking a solitary audience with this twilight that beggars me; this everycolour that becomes cliché when I language it. These few words I have, these colours, settle into horizontal calm.         * Lord, tomorrow will be grey. Grey-sky days are metal blankets and I a prisoner of gravity’s commands; but here I stand a prophet on a mountain to declare in all the messy lines spoke-thought: Today is, I am, You are. This, and no more.

 

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