The prayer of the heart

i pick up the phone to talk for free on sundays/ on the other end of the line there are no other words/ i skim through my phone numbers agenda/ people i forgot about because they did not want me/ my love for the farther and departed ones/ the biblical kin queuing at the same feast/ sharing and multiplying home bread and onions/ and the man paid to soak the sponge in vinegar

it’s a very quiet day it rains as if in empty honeycombs
people come back from the white church with low spires
sharing their umbrellas

i stick my fingertips to the soil in the pot with a green plant/ i disconnect myself/ i discharge my electricity/ i try to fix the soles of my feet on the floor/ to equilibrate my soul between the two lungs/ this is an exercise without mantras feng shui or ikebana

only a sunflower stays close to the wall like virgin mary in her prayers