Prayer At the Open Window

In solitude, I ponder life’s meaning
and have looked but not hard enough
through the open window.

Because a window is open does not
mean the air is full of light. Perhaps,
I have played too much solitaire,

evenings and mornings drinking that which
is worldly with my ample mug of coffee. I have
failed to heed the lesson, or, perhaps,

I barely listened. But I am asking you now,
God, with so much to ponder—as I gaze
upon the distant tree line—don’t I have my
salvation only by Your grace?

Last week another doe came bolting
through the yard. At first, I thought it was
a dog. But no dog leaps with such

magnificence. No, not even the greyhound.
I see that. Yes. So why not the rest?
Because if there’s really a verse for every
answer, two for every question, and no

mystery at all behind heaven’s gate—
only later to be revealed to the saints—
then I have argued, and I have lost.