By the Stone Path
The morning glories do not have to pray
Or chant a sutra in a scarlet voice
In sunlight, do not even need a sway
From breezes. They are holiness, no choice
Or sacred regimen, the sort that monks
Or nuns indulge required. Blooms’ sunshine creed
Is obvious. They do not need those runs
Of scales and beads through fingers, do not need
Theology. They open out their leaves
And then their joined up petals, blood-pumped flowers,
And all the host of heaven then receives
Their pitch. No call for Holy Office Hours.
Both intercessions and sung sacred tones
Bloom, gospelled in our field of dried up bones.
~ Phillip Whidden