Liturgies.
Words. Chosen words. Arranged. Prayed.
Prayed over and over
Until our very beings like trees,
Roots deep,
Soak up those words.
Absorb those words.
Chosen. Arranged. Prayed.
Liturgies.
A refrain retained.
By the mind. The mouth. Vocal cords.
Evoked by the soul.
Liturgies.
Sometimes a murmur. Murmur.
A tempo.
The broken heart’s metronome.
Liturgies.
Sometimes a profession.
Quiet. Confident.
Bending its knees to the gravitational pull
Greater than the moon.
Somewhere beyond the moon.
To the Truth that always abides.
That conducts the tides.
Sometimes rising.
Sometimes falling.
But ever drumming.
Drumming against the rocks.
Liturgies.
Chosen. Arranged. Prayed.
Reordering our loves.
Rearranging desire.
Creeds and catechisms and songs.
Etched into our hearts.
Blazoned so deeply,
The words tattoo our organs.
Visible. And Invisible.
Words. Chosen words. Arranged. Prayed.
