A Psalm

Like an object set into motion by a catastrophic collision of unknown origin
and having established its course
into deep space with no apparent end in sight

but by degrees, with each speck of cosmic dust it makes contact,
with each neighboring wanderer
— a kind word, a scrawl on a graffiti wall, words jumping off a page,
a soft whisper in the ear in a prayer line
— slowed, till what seems an eternity (though in truth
compared to eternity, a mere instant of time)
I now come to rest.

Be the force that moves me. Let all negative forces
be negligible in the light of the force of love:
The lightness and light and force that does not force
but in whose field of influence no object can help but be moved, and yield,
whether slowed or sped up,
to eternity.

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