At a beginning,
with the closest solitary prayer being
“I don’t know,”
my hips work to keep the rest of me in the saddle.
Movements in the sky-
valley fog, and clouds weaving high through the hills-
live their nature in waves, currents, and vanishings,
grand teachings of the cycles of continual change.
Sometimes, I wish I knew.
But, unintentionally, artfully, that greatest illusion
has been set on the shelf-
a furry trickster friend
who flashes me a smile, and snaps his tail
at the most wicked, and absurd times.
I don’t know becomes
a delicate, gritty daily worship.