An Atheist’s Prayer
Free of god-guilt weight,
Free of what-Jesus-would-do worry,
I make my way in a world clear of angels
and clean of miracles.
Longing replaces prayer.
Gently now, gently:
Can I love?
Am I allowed?
Do I have to wait until the world has time,
has healed,
has room for it?
Maybe I start from a distance,
smiling at my favorite parts,
noticing long enough to cherish,
enjoying just as is.
Can I love
without piercing hunger,
without aching need,
without the declaration that says MINE?
I blow you a silver dandelion,
carefully imagine how we might begin,
save the first-star-I-see for you.
You take it.
No, you.
No, you.
Help me put all the monsters to bed.
Turn off the clock.
I’ll inhale your admiration,
gently.
Written January, 2004
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