Prayer, Wednesday

In and out
Of what it is I ask for,
I make this promise:
To allow the season
Its bounty.

Because I can only want
What is perfectly offered
And grace does not suffer
Profane argument.

Because the earth
Called me here, because
The air has offered its worth,
Because home
Called me home, and because
I took notice.

But it is true,
That I need my wanting-you
Because my wanting-you
Is the ticket I claim
And also, the one that names
The notes, of the homesong.
It is there, where the gentle arms
Of the hearth
Embrace my stained cloak
And dust me whole, into
The loving un-done.

Where I will courteously
Take that, that
Which is given, in
Pure truth, and of an unearned
Love, a love,
Now, I learnTo answer to.