If I Were a Poet

Prayer is the sound of laughter under the stars
even as those stars are falling from the sky;
It is the echo of voices crying together,
paraphrasing thunder at dawn.
Prayer is the desperation of hands clinging to
the last rung of a ladder to the sky
where something lives that we have never seen.
It is fury without sound
and music without notes,
causing angels and demons both to tremble in fear.
For all things, bliss and agony, heaven and hell,
are subverted and meaningless
when the eternal dance of cause and effect
freezes in time,
and the word becomes flesh.