What church is there
But standing in this garden just before sunrise
The sky yet bruised by night
And feeling the same way
But laughing out loud
In free defiant hope anyhow?

What hymn is there
But the dawn chorus of Blue Jay and Robin,
And Mockingbird, and Dove,
And heart,
And knowing that they sing deep in praise of the promise of a new day,
They long for it,
But more than that
The Sun races, aches to hear the new song,
In a yearning that is not unrequited,
Not even reciprocal,
But one?

What prayer is there,
But the honest involuntary sharp intake of breath
When life is so true and beautiful and real
That the body demands a reckoning,
A cardiopulmonary reconciliation of within and without,
Immanent and transcendent,
And knowing that it is the breath of the new baby before any cry,
The sign that true love knows itself,
The inspiration that moved out across the waters,
All one breath,
Placeless here,
Timeless now?

What faith is there,
But the way we are instinctively silent in holy places,
From Stained Glass sanctuaries
To Big Sur
To the Bodleian
To this garden
And knowing it is all one
Shared holiness,
And in it
Teacher and Dreamer wait,
Longing
As long as it takes
For quiet recognition?

What worship is there,
But knowing the Sun and the Birds and the Breath and the silence do not labor
But just are
And all there is to do
Is shine
And sing
And breathe
And be?