Sing Me Closer

 Sing Me Closer

(“I have spoken once, and I will not reply; or twice, and I will add nothing more.” Job 40:5)

There was once a man, a preacher, a laborer,
a well suited-and-tied man. He could pray beyond
the boundaries of time that ticked away at the end of meetings.
No flowers, little elegance, simply words strung together that, more
than
once,
made me wish I could pray exactly the same.

There was once a man, another, a hopeful, a bull,
an untailored man. He could tell you what God had said
right in the middle of the first man’s prayer.

I often wondered why either of them were there.

I do not fault them; I nearly envied one. My prayers were
drops of tears when alone,
perfect informal eloquence when presiding. But never so long
that anyone suspected I had learned a holy language. And
never so specific
that my words could be mistaken
for palm-reading, fortune-telling, or guidance from the
Almighty
who (I hoped) could speak quite well on Her own.

Today I go through a week of days with no live conversation
for hours at a time. I have spoken once, then not at all until
the night begins to fall.

I would give this gift.

But no one knocks on the door to accept it.

I despise spiritual language. I do not have the mystic’s vocabulary.
The only dialect that has ever moved me,
the only accent I’ve learned that removes the pain
are the words that wrap around your heart so hard
you feel like you might die,
and you might as well,
in the love that feels more divine
than pews and prophecy,
pomposity and prayers
combined.
Sing me closer so I can breathe,
touch my hands, warm, and I may, once more,
believe.