With my arms raised in a vee,
I gather the heavens and bring
my hands down slow together,
press palms and bow my head.

I try to forget the suffering,
the wars, the ravage of land
that threatens songbirds,
butterflies, and pollinators.

The ghosts of their wings flutter
past my closed eyes as I breathe
the spirit of seasons, the stirrings
in soil, trees moving with sap.

With my third eye, I conjure
the red fox, its healthy tail, recount
the good of this world, the farmer
tending her tomatoes, the beans

dazzled green al dente in butter,
salt and pepper, cows munching
on grass. The orb of sun-gold
from which all bounty flows.
~Twyla Hansen “Trying to Pray” from Rock. Tree. Bird. 

the thorn
that is heavier than lead—
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging—

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted—

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
~Mary Oliver from  “Morning Poem”

A Sabbath sunrise becomes unspoken prayer –
I open my hands and arms to it,
closing my eyes, bowing my head,
giving myself over to silent gratitude.

Gathering up the heavens, the sun moves
from subtle simmer to blazing boil.

I trudge forward every day,
each step in itself a prayer answered;
thankful I can still take a next step,
and a next, until I reach tomorrow
and again after that, I celebrate
there will be a next tomorrow.

Amen.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovpjQPWn2rQ