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Learning to Pray Anywhere, and Finding the Light

At The Shopping Mall
Dear God, teach me how to pray
Teach me that you live not only in the open field,
the birds singing at first dawn,
but also in the concrete parking lot
of the Everett Mall, in the neon lights of Old Navy,
in the wires crossing the open expanse
above me.
Teach me in sadness and anger
in frustration and fear.
The cars speed down the highway.
Their tires spin, spin.
There is so much
work to do. So much activity.
Dark oil flows over the land
as over a great Greek feast.
Teach me
how to praise your whole body.

Image by Martina K/Flickr, Some Rights Reserved.
Where The Light Enters
And suddenly I could not stop:
 God, I said.
What good is language? part of me wondered,
but I did not stop.
 God I said, from deep inside of me.
Outside it was almost
 dawn: the birds awake in all the trees, singing.
 These were not the words I had grown up to say:
 My mind quiet before the growing sounds.
 The birds have opened all their throats
 once and then again and again:
God, each one singing, asking
for nothing, inside my heart.

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