IS this prayer?

IS this prayer?

Word
made flesh

Alive on this
page…prayer forming
like sweet incense
engulfing
the vowels
leaving only 
consonants
resounding
through
lips parting.

THEN

A phrase
dabbed
speckles of ink
splashing like
drops of rain
drenching my hair.
I shiver not
because I’m cold.

You
pour Yourself
from the well of my being.

There is an
unfathomable
bottom.

Drop a stone—
you will not
hear the sound.
Might this,
IS this prayer?

In the hid-den depths,
You dwell.
You reside
here, in this House
with no walls.

The door always 
open.  You slip in
and out like a match lit
then blown out.

Finding a way,
this pilgrim
in love with the darkness of You.

A glimmer of light from celestial stars
paints the shadows of a soul
walking 
wide awake
upon a path uncharted.

The markers—
Trees speaking to me
the seasons…
branches pointing in every direction
like a compass
recognizing
TRUE NORTH…
a magnetic pull
guiding me
to wander

believing nothing FALSE
except the steps
not taken.

The song birds prepare
a chant,
a litany
welcoming the rising,
the birthing of
a new day dawning.

The Ocean’s ebb & flow
meets the sand.
The waves roll
over and over
like lovers who
cannot withhold their
pleasure
one from the other
touching,
curling under,
coming up for air,
kissing again

wondering,
—praying the moments never end

Word
made flesh—

Amen