|(Photo: Jacqueline Durban)|
The most blessed result of prayer would be to rise thinking,
“But I never knew before, I never dreamed.”
I find Her in the psalm of sun on skin,
in turning my face towards the light in early spring,
in the honeybees who worship at the altar of our cherry tree,
in crow's dark wing against the vivid blue of sky and sea.
It's then I know that prayer is in my bones,
in my cells dividing, quickening, allowing space
for the never-ending wilding song of grace
that breaks through winter's frozen state
and sets my bloodsongs free to sound and shine.
I know that sister starling prays Her better still than I
with whirr and click that cleaves the day to life,
her feathers gone to stars, and yet I try
to find the words for how it feels
to see the first petals against snow
and what that means to light,
to fall in love with what wind means to wings,
and peace to night.
And this black ink I use to write is whispering cormorants
I wonder just how deeply I can dive...
(Jacqueline Durban, 27th March 2017)