Prayer In A Garden

Sink soul,
Into the silence
Of leaf-grained awe;
the sweep and fall of the melody of adoring.
Praise in abandonment
To the ceaseless ebb and flow
Of the mute figure on the wood.
The ache of inadequacy-
How to praise him?
Be still though, and become
The adorer,
Become one with the diaphanous bird,
Feel the pulse
of the thickening night air,
darkness swelling.
Do not hasten, do not speak.
Join the silent grandeur of creation,
Obeisant, exultant,
Thrilled by the touch.