Something of supreme rightness
Lies at the heart of Life...
Like a star or a single white rose
Sufficient in Itself...
Yet It reaches everywhere
Whispering Itself.
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain; then a man will stand stack- still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train. Pray for us now.
