“Our Father”
is lifted like a white flag
again and again and again
words flung to the abyss
like torn, falling fingertips
scrabbling for any hold
on the grey cliff that races past
to “the glory” and beyond
to the “Amen”…
that long, prolonged Amen
a waiting wish that it may be
– may it be –
a strained Amen that waits
like a hand held above the water’s edge