Friend in memory, living all through memory and reaching to parts of me that search even further. Lover who has seen me in all my tensions and wanderings and who still touches me to be fire atop my head. Abba who is sweet and heavy fog which graces my skin with droplets and enters me in breath to move within. How you find me, drink me, how you know me, touch me, how you surround me, give to me... these things i wish to understand and in my wish i find prayer.

Behind my eyes your own hands are at work and i've no wish to neglect any of this, i've no wish to hold any of myself back, i've no wish to halt myself as i rush into your love. Yet you have shown me that without prayer the antiwishes do find their way into me.

Without my wishing prayer to you i can no longer be myself, without what you give me as the desire of my heart. My heart's desire is my life's love, even yourself, and without yourself i cannot be myself; without you i am nothing.

With you i still dance. When i return you reveal your face to me again and as i am unable to see your face and live — how could i ever envision your totality? — you give me glimpses, aspects of your love for me... and you let me touch your face, gradually teaching me of your terrain and my fingers remember; my hands are dancing near your eyes and forever i marvel at the look of love you grant me.

These fingers of mine have a game that we play in the danse: to hold a pen with the notion of writing your face, for all to see. But what are my words in the face of your face? You already write your face and show yourself to the world: one man, the word of you, is your face, is you. You are your word and you ask me to speak your word, and so though my own words falter i speak, and your word is yours spoken to and through my shaking fingers.

You yourself are more than i can bear, and so you hold me and you yourself bear yourself. You wrap me in yourself and take me and you give me prayer, you give me the blessing that is you.

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