Praying Without Words

Letting the sun of spring hit my face
only reminds me of the goodness that is always here
deep within me when I remember to slow my pace.

So I treasure the sound of rustling leaves as the gum trees sway.
And in this wind I remember to pray.

Not the ‘Dear God’ words I was taught when I thought I was bought by some transactional man in the sky.
But by the simple act of watching my breath as she inhales, as she sighs.

Here I feel my toes soak deep into her soil where my soul meets union,
the wine and bread of communion.

But much more intimate than that
more intimate than a lover’s making
for everything is being created by this love awakening
as I enter into you and you enter into me.

Here is holy making, spirit playing
This place where god is waiting.