The words priests use
to stumble around the Mystery
are our best-worst-case-fall-back
from the kneeling bench.
They are all we really have
that’s real to speak of how we feel,
short of being, “In the Presence Of”,
what ever that may mean, some day!
Right down to the pronouns:
Up. In. Over. Through,
They’re all just guesses about an infinity
we cannot fathom,
about a Thing we never knew.
One ant, under a canopy of weeds,
trying to explain to an ant-friend
what an Atlas Missile is
and how it rockets to the moon.
I’ll take the few words I have.
They’re all I’ve got to express my Faith,
even to myself.
A hollow sky if I don’t.
A Hallowed One if I do.