Prayer Approaching Nothing
When a promontory falls . . .
mum. da.
I am fearfully,
fearfully propelled towared my own isolated inevitables.
like an appendage whose use I’ve lost, a tail cropped,
banded and dropped, fragments . . . not of life only . . .
but even segments of my own True Self, killed off . . .
and what? I do not know. And so I pray. Whole-heartedly.
Consume me, and, amen.
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