When I am walking in the
health-food carrot crunch
of a blossoming autumn
I hear one set of footshatters, but
there is a
voice in my mind
telling me not to pray in steps-language today
but to pray in poets-language
and to read in prophets-language
stop pirouetting away from Me

"what else am I to say?"
listen, for once

and it seems to me
that this voice as
definite as a soap bubble pop
should bring thunder with
its earth-shaking,

my life is tilting
and I have never
liked the dizzy fair rides
but the fast ones and
"oh God, can I please get down now"
and when it slows I
don't think I know
where I am

until I remember
that once upon a time
I was a child
My silly girl,
you dropped your bubble-prayer-wand
"thank You, Daddy"

and I don't recall
the last time
I said that.