A Prayer for Boston

Within me, within you,
is the capacity to blacken all of time.
We own a terrible freedom,
a glorious beast,
the options of infinity.
Under cover of the moon's dark light,
we seek and secretly savor shadows
whose forms of flesh on flesh
tearing skin from bone
injecting beautiful poison into our hearts,
our bones, our skin
promises salvation but only tears
apart that which makes us human.

When we love one another
we have seen God's face.

I love you, sister,
though everything in me calls out
for me to tear you down.
I love you, brother,
though I wish my power
exceeded yours.
I love you, mother,
though I feel unreasonably
that I must triumph over you.
I love you, father,
and I love you all my fathers and mothers
and all my sisters and brothers,
though I desire your destruction.

I pray for the people of Boston,
because and although I have a fire burning in me.
I pray for the bombers, the runners, the families,
all those crying quietly in closets and burning in their beds.
I pray for those whose lives were changed in an instant,
in the twinkling of an eye.
I pray that the spirit who reveals God's face
would infect each heart.
I pray that each person would hold a candle to the darkness
in those around them.
I pray that a true rain would quench the fire
burning in our chest,
and I pray that we are all changed, in an instant,
in the twinkling of an eye.