A Prayer

A Prayer

Let us regard...

Not so much the pleasing of men

that they might later be our pleasure,

or not so much witting ourselves lone out of the pen

to enjoy alone the freedom of the pasture,

not so much the storing up of ken

to set ourselves over all men as their pastor.

But more the moment when I slip your glasses off,

quietly, because you are sleeping. 

Let us regard…

Not so much the pursuit of success

or the superlative of style,

not so much the refining of our resume 

or our puffed and breathing profile,

or the flash and glimmer of our product

and its slogan to beguile. 

But more when we were joyfully made fools by the height of our own laughter. 

Let us regard…

Not so much the apartment with the view,

unscrolling the painted backdrop of the set,

or our knowing of the cue,

not letters to heart or lips lush, painted wet, 

or the strength of our performance for those we've never met. 

But more 

when the shout of country thunder 

sent you quickly to my bed,

to the safety of my breath. 

Let us more regard these things,  

not what the market's morrow brings,

instead, have the sparrow's cares (that are her wings)

Who, with mustard trust, by the lilly sings

and plucks the heads of grain. 

Let us regard more 

the suddenness of our fellow

who, among the hard and yet moving river-earth of objects,

is outwardly riven,

offering the inward living gift

given

from beneath that ever migrating welter of things. 

let us settle on this, and call it 

"the great mystery"  and "the subject of all dogma."

and "altissimum". 

Let us not so regard our seeing of the global world;

the having of wonders from men and women that loom

as a landscape built of bricks built of children.

Let us not so easily have these wonders

by the magic of the frame,

or the engine of the plane. 

Let us touch our faces to the ground first,

Let us taste the dirt like Bernadette, 

Let us in the plains await,

Let us only pass through gates

after water and oil has trickled on the head. 

Let us not so regard our owning of the lone room in the tower,

where we keep the rosy flower

by the window sill under lock and key.

not so afraid of the mortal hour

when flesh loses pulse and power

and we'll rest between rock and fruit tree.  

Let us not so regard all these,

Instead, let us ascend the stair case with bruiséd knees,

let us unlock the upper door and drown the key,

let us set the table outside amidst the tugs of breeze,

Let the loaf of bread be broken among the three,

Then let us drink the sap from the maple tree,

And  say 'amen'. 

jordan dejonge.