O dear One

whose name is more than a name

whose power I cannot tame

O dear One

I look into the sky, brushed with streaks of pink and orange at the dawn

And am reduced to babytalk — ohhhh, wow….

I gaze at mountain ranges, parapets of stone

And remember how puny is my place in the grand order of things.

O dear One, how can it be

that you, who with consummate skill cut the facets of the celestial gems

And burnished the alabaster moon,

would have bothered to fashion a creature such as myself,

with fickle faith, indigestion, cavitated molars, and the habit of repeating bad jokes?

How can it be that my kind can exist at all, trashing the earth and all its creatures with greed and lust?

Yet you gave me inner eyes that can see you beyond the clouds

You gave me a heart that is a compass aimed at your feet,

You gave me a mind that strives to reveal your every hiding place,

And you gave me a voice to say your name

which is something more than any other name, with a power I cannot attain.