A Prayer

Father God, grant that I may
not understand. Protect the mystery of
a slow walk at night or
the smell of an old book or
the gaze given only from a
redeemed and broken man
from ever packing neatly into
the prisons I like to think
are ideas.

Instead, Father, grip and
heave the rug that is so comfortably
under my feet.

And I’ll fall.

And we’ll dance on the other side.

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