(and maybe one thing only)
That I’m sure of
Is that you’re there.
But there are lacerations on my heart and holes in my soul. My words, accidental prayers, float into unoccupied space. Should I fall in a hole, I’d like to be picked up, though it seems I keep laying there wishing.
I don’t have an offering other than my tortured self and broken faith but I can sing you this shattered hallelujah.
Maybe it will be enough.