Father, forgive us, your children
who reduce your words to sound bytes
and slogans, satisfied to sign checks
and the bottoms of greeting cards,
unknowing the names you call us by.
Father, forgive us, your body
who demand to see all things now,
though by choice blind to gifts
both simple and complex: inhaling,
exhaling the letters of your name.
Father, remember us, the forgetful,
the inexcusably unmindful, who
pray tight-fisted sealed-eyed prayers
imploring providence provide the feast already
before us, though in the presence of our enemies.
Father, lighten us, your lights
darkened by too little breath, too much wind
made heavy with walls and ceilings,
neither speaking nor listening,
neither rooted nor cut to burn.
Father, quicken us, the diseased,
the dying, the long dead,
from our own darkened eyes
and foolish hearts, for muttering never
to the still returning yes and amen.
-- Justin Adams