I don’t pray right or straight.
I am old ground tramped, vexed, lax.
Will you not walk with me?
Are you beneath or overhead?
I am excavating, skyward.
I am underwater, anchored, bait.
Will you not plunge with me?
Are you a cleanser of feet?
I am indecent, mud.
I am a money changer, a robber.
Will you not assay my purse?
Are you a tax collector?
I am rich, a beggar, desolate.
I beseech day by day, darkly.
And at night in the striking light.
I ask these questions, freely.
Should I demand answers?
From whom?
The most essential being.
Who are you?