Murmur

I’ve long come to realize
that this is how I pray,
these early morning writes.

How, in this predawn stillness,
I open to the page,
setting onto it
the mundane,
the repetitive,
the endless questions,
the sadness,
the fears,
some lasting,
some passing.

Just a murmuring
into the darkness, really.

Yet, as I empty my vessel,
I begin to feel a shift,
a lightness.

Then,
I know You are here-
when my heart softens,
when the space
that is You in me,
expands.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith