Matins

Early light, young as
the beginning of the world,
rests against the trunk of the tree.
Here lies prayer
so light, so tender on the bark.

Higher up, in the leaves, the bees
begin their zizzy Matins.
They commence with the birds’ chorus
and every hour pray louder.
They dare not stop their pleasure

lest the world itself
dissolve.
Their hummy buzz
tells me as I pass beneath
that they pray for all of us.

The light lying on the trunk
now has thickened and brightened
even as I by an hour am older.
With bees and sunlight and tree
I breathe, I breathe my prayer.

©Susa Silvermarie 2020

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