If we could pray. If we could say we have come here together, to grow into a tree, if we could see our blue hands holding up the moon, and hear how small the sound is when it slips through our fingers into water, when the meaning of words melts away and sugarcane speaks in fields more clearly than our tongues, when a child takes a stick as long as itself and rolls a wheel down a lane on wings of dust, in control, would we think then that we should thank someone? If we knew we could turn, and turning feel that things could be different. But we are unused to gratitude, if we could lose our pride, bend down look for peace on the iron ground. If we could kneel. |