prayer
i have known the shape of longing,
the ache that invents new infinities.
i have built cathedrals from scraps,
lit candles from shadows,
and within them found myself
kneeling in rapture,
mouth full of prayers
spoken only to past or future aims.
but what is more human,
more daring,
than to rise from the dream
and remain in what is real—
to look at the world i have made,
with all its flaws and gravity,
and give my devotion here:
hands to the daily work,
breath to the ordinary flame,
heart steady as an offering
laid upon the present altar.
this choosing is the art
of life itself.