Broken rocks in the footprints

Majestic shell-stirred pebbles accustomed to neglect
Hiding under Her feet this night and this morning
She can heal the pebbles, just as She can
bring together what was separated by logic,
consciousness, and regret. This is no steamboat
so fast to escape Her help. She knows
I cannot pray or fabricate words
to honor Her, She is amused at
my recalcitrance, She smiles at me lately
like She knows I am only concerned with the state of my fate
But it is only my own fate
My hand could possibly alter
for better or worse as I do not have
the means to transfer sociological witnessing
She asks, “Is that how you are going to
put it? The words you use are so ordinary.
You can do more. And on many levels. Pray away.”