I am weary
Of the hiding-
In-fox-hole prayers
Artful in their folds
Loopholes and crevices
For squirming and reframing
And scurrying
Prayer is an open field
It is upraised
Upright
Uplifted
Receptive like a lightning rod
To be a conduit of spirit
The field does not skulk
Prayer is the nest
Holding the collapsed
Who weep and rage and wonder
If the egg isn’t broken
Stamped by iron feet
The nest does not slink
Save your hiding prayers
Spirit’s skirts enfold
They do not shield rhetoric.
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