My Church, My Temple
I have wandered churches and temples,
Laid by statues of rock and altars of crystals.
I have chanted prayers of devotion,
And offered garlands to a vast ocean.
I have knelt at every wooden pew,
Left a train of candles burning
For a drop of rain or winds of change,
A sign of seasons turning.
I have stared into endless fires,
Followed their smoke to the skies
Until I found God in your eyes
And the way you see the stars.
My church, my temple,
Tell me, my wonder—
Why do we wander?
Ruminate and ponder?
I’m little and I know nothing!
I’m a poet in linen trousers,
Staring up at the great unknown
Asking for a seat at the table, after-hours.
Throw me over your shoulder,
Clutch me close in gridlocked traffic.
Teach me Christmas songs in July,
Teach me to harmonise with the static.
So when existence feels as impossible,
As divisive as oil and water
I will write and write with no end
Singing back, what a wonder!
