The Agnostic's First Prayer

How nice
that blades of grass
push through the cover
of dead oak leaves;
and all that's needed
is a bit
of Spring.






(This came to me while I sat recuperating
from yesterday's frailty.
Sitting and hearing birds and frogs,
bike tires coasting,
balls smacking leather
--all while I hid behind the sun-drenched wall of my eyelids.


How do I know You approve where I extend this scepter?
When I rose from my chair all to stroll
a woodland creek-bed,
You flanked my path with blue and white violets,
for the first time of the season.

How do You know I saw Your part
in the interplay?
I tucked the flowers
in my hair.)