583, 582, 581, 580: I prayed like a pagan that day

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I prayed like a pagan that day

To clay that had the imprints of tide and thumb,
To a single hibiscus in the softest shade of peach
That had petals and stamen gilded with the gold of the sun, the blue of the sky, and the translucent glory of rain,
To hand-crafted sticks of incense from which wafted fragrances like soul, like music, like memory,
To a single tiny square of raw sugar,
To the lust and lush of flames...

I prayed like a pagan that day

When I was distracted from the void and the peace
When my fingers stroked every bit and bend of artful form
When I stared at every pixel of purple and green
When I only saw beauty in all that impermanence
And was grateful for believing
That the impermanence redeemed
That the beauty was enough



 

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