Praying

That praying was an attitude
of hands laced up like boots
and heads bent down
towards a parquet floor,

I took for truth
back in the days
of music-loving men
in colourful jumpers,
assisted by women
with horn-rimmed spectacles
and faith like little stones held close.

But praying is outside all rites
(is what I now believe).

Praying is a word like art or loneliness
that cannot be defined
completely of itself, a field or chair or map.

Explained perhaps with chemistry
but never fully understood,
its meaning is revealed as mystery
more nourishing of mind than fact.

Whatever idols made of gold
exist in legend still untold,
whichever God makes pulp of tribes
and all their poly-theist scribes,

a prayer is made alone

outside the vantage points
of neighbour
family
and friend

nemesis
or passerby

alone with God or Time or You
you sit

and silently make sense of it