At Prayer
Penetration to the edge of Mystery
Burns the fingers of my heart
And I look for a hiding kind of fog,
A respite for my soul,
A cool wet mist.
But there's no healing for the
Quivering center of myself,
That freshly blessed sinew
Divinity has kissed.
Penetration to the edge of Mystery
Burns the fingers of my heart
And I look for a hiding kind of fog,
A respite for my soul,
A cool wet mist.
But there's no healing for the
Quivering center of myself,
That freshly blessed sinew
Divinity has kissed.