New / Joshua Alan Sturgill
I pray,
but nothing happens
new. My foot
unconsciously
taps the turning Earth.
I practice breathing.
Somewhere, a storm continues,
unaffected by my prayer.
Somewhere, a stretch of tundra observes
another day-long arctic noon.
I pray again.
A crescent moon appears
motionless, embedded
in a bruise-colored cloud.
I ask; war; I seek; business transactions;
I knock; sleep
overcomes a weary child.
I call the Name,
but can only add it
to my digestion, to the ongoing
of an exhausted world.
I pray,
because the Name alone
is new.
All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2024 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.
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