This morning during my prayer and yoga time, I grew frustrated with myself. I couldn’t focus, the words wouldn’t come, I felt blocked. Seems that sometimes in trying too hard, I lose the purpose of prayer. This poem helped me find my way back.
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.