bowing down requires no words, though it made mean i have
to clip my fingers, and there is nothing in this world without
it.
at six am i stretch and stretch and bow forward, bend forward,
knowing, at last
after all the stiffness of sunday praying that the body is
the ehart and the heart is the mind and the mind is the life
and if i can't stretch out my arm, then the soul stas frozen
and i had chosen, years ago,
to believe that bowing to divine will was simply
of matter of sitting at the
hill of the mountain of
the great dictorial godliness and
saying, yessum, yessum
what if had not known and barely
know is the blessed reiverlyiness
of things, the way of the flow of things and
the bowing down of things and the bowing down to things
ant at this moment you are god and she is god
and the way of the world is god an the golden calf,
ground into silt and ground ito ashes and mashed
into water to drink is god and sumbmission,
nd bowing down, is stretching,
and loving
is bending.