Which is truer? To say that God is love,
or that for God, love is too limited
a term, as if an ocean were content
to curl within the confines of a cup
or drown in dust while angels sheathe their swords
and weep dry tears. This desert’s night crawls out
scorched and scornful before me, while I mouth
from cracked and wasted bones, God, give me words
to form, to speak your person, my soul’s life,
in certainty, not shapeless shadows, flow.
If words, proof, self, must fail before I know,
Lord, on each of my dyings, shed your light.
Let, rain, breath – Spirit – permeate this air
Let language become thought, and thought, prayer.
Copyright 2015 Carrie Myers. Originally published in “Re-Imagining Theologies: Asian/American Artists and Faith.” March 28-May 15, 2015. The Walls-Ortiz Gallery and Center.